#I used leftover thanksgiving turkey

[aggressivedaikons]

I made some ramen 🍜 

[nerdingoutonmain]

Just found out my husband brought home more turkey from his mom's house and honestly, I'm being so brave about it.

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

-

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

-

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

-

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

-

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

-

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

-

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

-

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

-

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

-

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

READ MORE

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

[jo-harrington]

Peak Sales Hours (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After his first Black Friday, Eddie is exhausted and takes comfort in his new relationship with you.

Previous Part: Promotion

Warnings/Themes: Established friendship/new relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort(?), idk it's a lot of comfort, working in retail hell, Eddie works at Tape World and Reader is the Store Manager at Claire's in Starcourt Mall, angry customers, weariness

Note: So...hi guys. Welcome back to the Store Manager Verse. This little installment is sort of skipping a step. I had a whole thing planned and half-written of Eddie and our favorite SM actually confessing their feelings and being fluffy...and it's still gonna happen I'm just...on day whatever of work and have a big deadline and have had sleep for lunch the past I-don't-know how many days.

And it just took me back to the countless Black Friday and Peak Holiday shifts where all I wanted was to get back home. So here we are.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

___

Never, in his entire life, had Eddie Munson felt more akin to the heroes from his favorite fantasy stories.

Long journeys and harrowing battles.

Deep wounds and comrades lost to the beyond.

Hoards of villains and the promise of a better future if only there was hope.

Taran. Aragorn. Luke Skywalker. They had seen it all.

"What's taking so long? I just need a gift receipt!"

But none of them had ever worked Black Friday.

He had experienced Black Friday before, as a shopper.

Thanksgiving hadn't ever been anything magnificent in the Munson household, especially after his mom died. Wayne and Rick had always tried to make it still feel special for Eddie, with hearty midwest comfort foods.

There would always be a full belly and an even fuller heart with his uncle and his almost-step-dad around. Eddie could never complain.

Then after a late afternoon dinner, Wayne would pack up a plate of leftovers to make his shift at the plant that paid time-and-a-half, plus a little something extra from the plant manager, cash in hand. By the time Eddie woke up the next morning, Wayne would pull up with a box of fresh donuts, honk three times, and they would be on their way to the Kmart on Rt 9 and get some steeply discounted goods with Wayne's holiday pay.

It was always a madhouse, but Eddie could swiftly dodge screaming kids, empathize with over-caffeinated employees, and wait in long lines if he and Wayne didn't need to fret about things like work boots and gloves, t-shirts and underwear, and usually one nice little Christmas gift for each of them.

This year, of course, had been a little different. Wayne had been a little disappointed--he would never admit it, but Eddie could tell--that their tradition would be forsaken for Eddie's shift at the mall. But your addition into the Thanksgiving festivities had been a welcome one.

Eddie had extended the invitation weeks ago, when you mentioned you wouldn't be able to make it home to spend the holiday with your family thanks to work.

You, of course, promised to pull your weight--

"It's always really casual," he tried to ease your worries as you began to fret over what kind of dessert Wayne and Rick might like. "You don't even need to dress up. Come in your pajamas. Rick makes a really good pumpkin pie, and I have my mom's old scalloped potato recipe that will literally put you in a food coma."

"What about turkey?" you asked.

"We don't really do turkey." He shrugged. "There's only three of us. So we do different things every year. Rick usually catches some kind of fish if it's warm enough. Wayne has a good recipe for fried chicken. We were thinking of doing meatloaf..."

"I can do the meatloaf!" You perked up immediately.

--only to show up laden with a roasting pan for the meatloaf, a plastic-wrapped gravy boat full of some kind of mushroom gravy, a salad, and a casserole dish overflowing with green beans, cream-of-something soup, and heaps of french fried onions.

Eddie, of course, scolded you as you shuffled through to the kitchen, much like he had the first time you showed up for dinner at his place. But he also placed a soft peck on your lips, which earned him a bashful smile as you shoo'd him away.

That was a new development to your...friendship, if you could even call it that anymore. There really hadn't been time to discuss the logistics between the frenzied makeout session in his van outside of the Hideout this past Tuesday night and Thanksgiving dinner.

Now that he had been trapped at the cash wrap, ringing out ungrateful customers for the past 8 hours, he was almost loathing his past self for wanting to be a little discreet in front of Wayne and Rick. For not...making himself have the "what are we" conversation with you, because your lips had soothed every frazzled nerve he had the other night.

Knowing that at the end of the day that he wasn't going through it alone, that his girlfriend was also in the mall suffering through the mass chaos and that he could go upstairs and steal a kiss whenever he wanted...well it certainly would have done him a world of good to mentally prepare him for this.

For the entirety of his time working at Tape World, he thought he had been doing a pretty good job. Sure there were some hard days, some rude customers. But at the end of the day, an 8-hour shift was an 8-hour shift, and he was only selling tapes. Not...ending world hunger.

"Ah you say that now," Kyle told him on Wednesday as they were putting together cardboard "dump bins" for the discount tapes that would be placed every 10 feet in the store. "But Black Friday is a beast, and Christmas Eve is worse. You're honestly lucky you only work here and not at, like, Radio Shack or something. My buddy Todd has seen some shit.

"Actually, I'm almost regretting scheduling you as a mid but I needed a second key." Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. "Peak Hours. Mid's a rough shift for Black Friday weekend."

"I'll be fine," Eddie scoffed. "I've done mid shifts before. I'm almost excited. How bad could it get?"

Famous. Last. Words.

He had barely been able to squeeze into the store when it was time for his shift, the line for the cash wrap blocked the way to the stockroom door. As soon as people saw his name tag, they started shouting at him to open the other register, how they needed help; he could barely get a word out to explain that he wasn't clocked in yet. They didn't care.

He was no longer Eddie Munson, Tape World Keyholder and your boyfriend, probably, maybe...

He was a body who could unlock the electronics case and ring them out.

He was a husk who said "welcome in" and "thanks have a great day" and smiled until his face started hurting.

And for the first time since he had gotten this job back at the beginning of summer...it really fucked with him.

His legs were cramped from standing at the Cash Wrap for so long, he wasn't sure which of the associates had his keys, his hair was damp with sweat even if he threw it into a some haphazard bun hours ago.

He'd been yelled at by more people than he could count, counted so much change the edges of his fingers were pretty much stained from all the muck and grime on everyone's money, and had made so many returns from people with buyer's remorse that he was sure they had given more money back than they had made in sales today.

Eddie hadn't even gotten a chance to take his lunch out in the mall and pay you a visit like he typically would. He had just collapsed in the little metal folding chair in the break area of the tiny stock room. Kyle had clapped him on the shoulder with a quick "good job kid" as he left for the day and Eddie hadn't even moved.

"Alright Ed," Paulie shuffled over as Eddie wrapped up the last in a long line of transactions and was about to wave the next customer over. "Quitting time."

Eddie sighed and backed against the counter as Paulie counted him down. The adrenaline of the day finally started to wear off as he came to realize that it was all over, and a weariness unlike the one he had been feeling his entire shift settled deep into his bones.

He went through the motions as he went back to the stockroom to grab his jacket and punch out. He wove his way through the still-crowded store and out into the mall, sighing in relief as the cooler mall air hit him.

It was gonna be a mercy once he got out to his van. He'd drive home with the windows down.

His ears rang as he headed towards the employee entrance and he wondered if it would be worth waiting in line at the Orange Julius before he left or if he should just stop through the McDonald's drive thru or something on his way home.

"Eddie."

But then, he didn't really need to stop for anything. There were leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner at home. He could smoke a little bit, make some kind of meatloaf sandwich, and then sink into his bed.

"Eddie."

And sleep until...

Fuck.

He was gonna have to do it all again tomorrow. And the day after that.

He thought back to his favorite fantasy heroes and wondered how they did it. How they put themselves through endless journeys, practically sacrificed themselves time and again.

And he could barely make it through a shift at the Starcourt Mall of all places.

"Eddie!"

He crashed right into your hands as you planted them on his shoulders and prevented him from absolutely barreling into you.

"Jesus are you ok?" you exclaimed and pulled him off to the side of the walkway to get out of the way of foot traffic.

Was he? Probably not.

"Yeah," he shook his head and answered. He finally looked at you, finally actually saw you. Dressed in your Teen Vogue best, as you called it, although a little worse for wear, if the eyeshadow smeared where it definitely shouldn't be and your jewelry all askew was any indicator. "Yeah I'm fine.

"You sure? You looked like you were in a trance," you explained. "I've been calling your name for a little while."

"Oh shit," he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, no...it's...It was just a long day."

You didn't hesitate. Your arms immediately wrapped around him and you pulled him in. Pulled him back from whatever precipice he was about to launch himself off of, and straight into the comfort of you.

---

Before long, Eddie found himself in your apartment, fully upside down with his legs propped against the wall as he enjoyed the Blizzard he'd picked up on the way.

"You know just cuz you can hold it upside down, doesn't mean you're supposed to eat it upside down," you laughed as you filled a pot with water and put it on the stove.

"And what are you, the Blizzard expert," Eddie scoffed. "If you'll recall I was the one who took you to Dairy Queen for the first time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes and turned to grab some cans from the cupboard.

You had offered to make dinner--again--while he vented about his shift. Nothing as spectacular as what you made for Thanksgiving dinner, but it left the leftover meatloaf for Wayne to take for his lunches.

"You're lucky I like your spaghetti sauce," Eddie grumbled, a little sad that he couldn't have his meatloaf sandwich.

So he talked as you ran to your bedroom to rid yourself of the remnants of who you became when you were at Starcourt, and as you emerged the person that, he liked to believe, was reserved especially for him.

He told you about the back to back returns he had dealt with when he came back from lunch as you dropped dried pasta into the boiling water and grated garlic into sizzling oil.

He complained about the man who demanded help from a manager only even though all he wanted was a special edition cassette deck that had all the bells and whistles and anyone with keys could help him. His voice got louder and meaner as he quoted the jackass verbatim, but the sharp strike of your wooden spoon against the side of the pot brought him back down to earth.

And as he finished up his story about having to count Sam's register three times because he forgot that there were large bills under the cash tray, you joined him on the couch with a bowl of steaming hot pasta for each of you.

He righted himself and discarded the empty blizzard cup on your coffee table.

"First Black Friday in the books," you announced and you passed the bowl to him. "I'm proud of you."

"Proud?" Eddie groaned. "Seriously? It was a disaster."

"They always are," you explained sagely.

"You survived," he pointed out.

"So did you."

"Barely."

"So?" you asked and twirled noodles on your fork expertly. "Doesn't that count? This is, like...my 5th Black Friday? My 6th? I count each one as a victory. And so should you."

You leaned over to kiss his cheek, then clinked plates with his in a salute, and then the two of you fell into contented silence as you ate.

As Eddie worked ravenously through the layers of starchy, cheesy, garlicky goodness, he realized that the weariness that had settled within him after his shift had started to alleviate. How he felt more like himself now that he was sitting next to you, basking in the warm glow of your company.

He briefly considered this ritual the two of you had been engaging in for months. The way you shared stories and foods and got closer to one another. He had always been a little worried that things would change if he ever got his wish, if this friendship with you ever became more.

But it was like nothing had changed at all.

He wanted to ask, was tempted to ask, what this was? If this was a date, like all the dates that weren't dates hadn't been before? If you were his girlfriend now?

But then...he recalled the time that you had a bad day and you immediately found relief in him, how he thought that he didn't need to be your knight as long as he could be your home.

And Eddie realized that whatever the two of you decided it would be, whether you were still just his friend, or if you were his girlfriend, or maybe...maybe something else...

You, too, would always be his home at the end of a long battle.

---

Next Part: Disaster Preparedness

Tag List for Store Manager Verse is still temporarily suspended. Thank you for understanding.

[imdead770]

The Outsiders Thanksgiving Headcannons

We all know most of the gang doesn't have the best home life, so I think everyone just comes to the Curtis household

Since no one in the gang can really cook, everyone gets something to make

Dally buys steals most of the food

Darry makes the turkey because he's the only one who won't give the gang food poisoning

Sodapop sneaks food dye in anything he can

" Cmon Dar! Just one drop! "

" Soda, no. "

Eventually he gives up, but he got a few drops of green in the unseasoned mashed potatoes Steve made

Darry tries to say grace, but the entire gang has already eaten half the plate

" Dear Lord- Jesus Christ, Steve, it hasn't even cooled off! "

Two-Bit makes jokes the whole time and half the gang chokes

Steve just eats the desserts

Johnny's the only one who uses the untinsels

Dally definitely just stole all the food he brought in and said it was homemade

Someone's hair got in the food

"So I- who the hell shed in the stuffing?!"

Nobody can tell the hair color

Everyone just blames Ponyboy

" I haven't even touched the stuffing!? "

" It's greasy, Pony, it's yours "

" IT'S GREASY BECAUSE OF THE STUFFING?? "

By the end everyone's stuffed and there's no leftovers because everyone in the gang is a savage.

[syd-djarin]

Leftovers (joel miller x f!reader)

a @katiexpunk & @sydneyinacoma oneshot collab

Summary: You’ve waited for what feels like forever to hear Joel say he’ll give you what you want, and what better day to be grateful you’re both now on the same page than Thanksgiving. Joel shows you just how thankful he is for you by giving you loads of his cum. Yep, that’s the fic. 

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI 

Word count: ~2.6K

Warnings: BREEDING KINK GALORE (if this isn’t your cup of tea, kindly move along), come play, rough sex, established relationship, thanksgiving, gentle sex, rough sex, creampie, kitchen sex, finger fucking, pet names, use of DADDY, use of MAMA, feral!joel, somnophilia, inappropriate use of kitchen island, spanking 

Authors Note: what started as a brilliant idea from Katie, turned into a breeding extravaganza by these 2 slutty smutty sisters. Happy Thanksgiving ;)

~honored to get to collab w the amazing @katiexpunk again for some depraved fantasies. she is a true gift to this world & i'm proud to call her a friend. ily a milli bby. <33333

Joel finger fucking his cum back into you under the dinner table wasn’t quite what you had planned for the evening. 

But it’s Thanksgiving, and you’re grateful.

___

In the warm glow of the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, you stand in the kitchen, in total Thanksgiving mode. This is the first year that you and Joel are hosting at your house and you couldn’t be happier. 

The dining room table is set for twelve, a symphony of warmth and welcome. It’s decked out with gleaming plates, polished silverware, and a giant cornucopia centerpiece that Maria and Tommy had dropped by earlier in the morning. 

In the kitchen, the turkey is roasting, the pies are resting, and the whole place smells amazing. Your apron's on, tied snuggling around your waist, and you're juggling pots, pans, and veggies like it’s nothing. 

As you're meticulously arranging a platter of hors d'oeuvres, the floorboards creak as Joel approaches. You’re too deep into hostess mode to notice his presence. 

Joel leans casually against the kitchen doorframe, a silhouette of quiet appreciation as he watches you move with purpose around the kitchen. His broad shoulders rest against the wood with his arms crossed, while his gaze, softened by admiration, follows you. The longer he watches you, the hungrier he gets. 

He takes a step into the kitchen and your eyes lock with his. Your face erupts in a warm smile as you drink him in; fresh from the shower, his hair damp and combed neatly back. His scent invades your senses, over the plethora of smells circulating throughout the kitchen. It’s warm and earthy and brings a sense of comfort, of home, of Joel. 

He takes a few short steps forward through the kitchen to be closer to you. “Wow,” he breathes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I can’t believe all of this is in our kitchen. You’ve really outdone yourself, sweetheart.” 

You move to close the gap between your bodies, and stand to face him. You raise your hand to his chest, feeling the warmth he exudes and the fabric of his white t-shirt and flannel under your palm. Him in a flannel always makes you weak in the knees, but today it’s an all-consuming feeling. 

You glance up at him, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction etched on your face. “Well, you know how I am when it comes to Thanksgiving, I just want everything to be perf–” . Before you can finish your sentence, Joel’s lips are crashing into yours. It’s soft, and you relish in the taste of it.

Joel’s kisses become more needy, gluttonous even. Try as he might, he can never get enough of you. He’s fusing your body to his, one hand clutching your hip and the other cradling the nape of your neck. 

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. You’ve been workin’ so hard – why don’t you take a break, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, nipping at the soft flesh of your lobe. “Come take a break on my cock.”

“Joel, we can’t – everyone is going to be here in like 30 minutes, there’s still so much to do,” you try to reason, but your body isn’t listening, and neither is he. 

“Don’t care, make ‘em wait. Need you. Now,” growling in your ear. 

“Plus, if my calculations are correct, I know you’re ovulating, and I bet your body is craving my cum, isn’t it, baby?” he says, grabbing you by your hips and walking you back to the kitchen island until the cool marble hits your lower back and he has you pinned.

You and Joel have discussed kids, but briefly. You were ready now, but he wanted to wait.

“Let me breed your tight little pussy, baby. Wanna have my cum overflowing deep inside of you, wanna fuck it into you so deep it’ll stay there all night,” he says, reaching his hand up your dress.  

“Joel, now? I know we’ve discussed having kids, but you said you wanted to ah,” – your ability to form words gets broken as he slips his thick finger through the side of your underwear and cards it through your slick folds. “You said you wanted to wait,” you conclude, your breath a little ragged. 

“Waited long enough haven’t we? Wanna give you what you want, sweetheart,” ghosting a fingertip over your clit. “Plus I can’t wait to see your pretty little tits engorged and your belly full of my baby,” he says.  

His words stir heat low in your belly, they’re what you’ve been waiting for him to say for so long. You’re practically dripping at the thought of him as a father, how good he’ll be to both of you. 

His intent is to fuck you, to ravage you with no protection or pills, to intertwine your lives together forever. His cock all but tells you as much. You reach your hand out to cup the thick shape of him through his denim jeans, feeling his engorgement and so desperately wanting to have him inside of you. 

“Please, daddy,” begging him to fill you up, somehow already knowing that ‘daddy’ will spur him on.

“Already calling me daddy now, huh baby?” Joel says, “I’ll show you daddy,” he adds, assisting you in helping him unbuckle his belt and jeans, growing impatient, wanting to be buried deep inside of you. As he drags his jeans and underwear down, you’re also impatient, and shimmy your underwear down to your knees and hike your dress over your hips, giving Joel unrestricted access to your needy cunt. 

Joel grabs you by your waist and pulls you into him in a passionate kiss before flipping you around and pushing you down onto the kitchen island, chest first so that you’re eye-level with one of the Apple Pies you made earlier that morning. You’re grateful for the clothing covering you there as the countertop is cool, but your nipples still peak in response to the sensation. 

Normally he’d take this slow, work you up to it, make you come once or twice before even attempting to fuck you, but right now he doesn’t care, nor does he have the time. Joel Miller has one goal, and one goal only right now. Joel, normally a bit of tease, skips straight to the part where he’s fucking you. 

He lets out a moan at the sight of your ass bent over, pussy drooling, pressed up against his hips. Unable to resist, he swats your ass, enjoying the way your cheek bounces on impact. 

Your wet and aching hole is just begging to be filled with him. He grabs his heavy cock by the base and spits down onto it before bringing his hand to stroke the length of it a few times, lubricated by his own saliva and the pre-cum that collects as he thumbs over his weeping tip. 

He taps your ass with the mushroom head of his cock and grabs your buttcheek with his free hand, spreading you open to him. You’re growing impatient and whine out another plea, “please, daddy, please fuck me.” It’s pathetic and desperate but you don’t care. 

Instead of a verbal reply, he responds by slamming his cock into you, causing you to jolt forward. 

He only gives you a few moments to breathe before he’s driving into you at a dizzying pace. Should any of your guests arrive early, they’re in for a scene straight out of Skinemax.

“Fuck, baby. Who are you gonna let breed this tight little pussy, hmm?” Joel hisses through his thrusts. 

“Only you, Daddy. Only you. P-please, fill my pussy up,” you purr. 

“That’s right. Daddy’s gonna knock his girl’s tight little cunt up good, fill you full o’me. Gonna fuck you until you can’t see straight,” he says. 

“Gonna make you a mama,” he adds for good measure, his breath a little ragged from the relentless pace he’s setting, hammering in and out of you, “gonna be such a pretty mama, baby.” The sound of his balls clapping against you is drowned out by your moans. 

“Joel, shit – ah, I’m gonna come, feels so good,” you say, your cheek flat against the countertop. His cock is so big and perfect, you’re practically helpless. No more than a woman without a lifevest, drowning in the sea of your impending orgasm. 

“That’s good, sweetheart – it will open your cervix up to me, my seed,” he responds, his jaw goes tense and he’s also not far off from his own release. He begins to set a rough, relentless tempo and begins to thrust into you deeper and harder, causing your walls to clench around him tighter. 

Your legs begin to shake, and the buzz of arousal pulses through you. The tip of him hits the soft, spongy spot inside of you that drives you crazy, and with a few more drags of his veiny cock, you’re gone. 

“Fuck, daddy! Yes,yes,yesss—” You come with a hoarse shout, body writhing underneath him. 

His cock is covered in your sweet release, your milky juices covering his rod put Joel in a tantric, animalistic state as he nears his own orgasm. You’re still shaking under him, your legs begin to wobble and he holds both of your hips as he slams himself into you balls deep. You’re hanging onto his forearm behind you, needing solace from the intense onslaught. 

The strength of his grip leaves bruises on your hips as he gives you one final, intentional thrust, and pauses with the tip of him right up against your cervix and your walls milk him for all he’s worth as he curses your name under his breath. 

You can feel the subtle pulses of his cock as he stays stuffed inside of you to the hilt, holding his cum where he wants it to go the most. You both stay there, heaving and fucked out, as he lets the final drips of his seed paint every internal surface of your sweet pussy. He presses gentle kisses on your shoulder blade and behind your ear; a stark contrast from the previous roughness. 

“I’m gonna pull out now, sweetheart. But don’t go to the bathroom, want you to keep my cum inside of you for as long as you can,” he says, still pressing you against the countertop. You let out a small hum of agreement, and he retreats from your hole and you whine at the loss. You just want to be full of him always. You wrap your hand under you to cup your mound to keep the warm cum from flooding out of you. 

Just as Joel is pulling up his jeans, the familiar chime of the doorbell tells you that your first guests are here. 

“I’ll get it, baby,” Joel says with a wink and cards his fingers through his now dry salt-and-pepper curls in an attempt to look like he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life. 

You stay there on the countertop as long as you can, before you hear voices in the foyer. You let out a sigh, not wanting to get up yet, wanting to stay in your filled-up bliss for a moment longer. You stand up to pull your underwear back in place and straighten out your dress. 

++++

Of course Tommy and Maria would be the first ones to arrive. Not only were the Miller brothers both incredibly attractive, but they both had the same belief that if you aren’t at least five minutes early, you’re late. 

“Tommy, Maria – hi, so lovely to see you, Happy Thanksgiving!” you say, your voice just a little too high. You stand in place behind the kitchen island and clamp your legs shut together tight, trying to pay no mind to the sticky, syrupy release that’s beginning to slowly drip out of you down your thighs. 

Maria responds with a similar greeting, and then trails on “This island really ties the room together,” Maria surveys the kitchen, admiring the updates Joel’s been doing around the house. 

“Thanks,” Joel replies, “We’ve been breaking it in. You know, with all the cooking and stuff. I think it’s the perfect addition to our home,” he adds, giving you a look that says and it won’t be the only perfect addition in about nine months. You feel your chest heat at Joel’s unsaid words. 

“Can I get either of you a drink,” you ask, effectively making the transition back to hostess as you wait for the rest of your guests to arrive. 

++++

Nighttime encroaching, your exhaustion takes hold of you. From preparing food all day, tidying up the house – with Joel's help, of course –  and an explosive orgasm – also with Joel’s help – your body aches, overcome with the need to sleep for 15 hours or more. 

Joel observes your depleted energy, feeling proud that some of it is his doing. He also knows that you’ll need lots of rest in the coming days, and he’s more than happy to take care of you.

So he decides to give you a boost of energy the best way he knows how. 

You try to retain any form of composure as he reaches his hand under the table, and grabs your upper thigh. He pauses there for a moment, but eventually trails his hands up under your dress to the damp fabric of your underwear. 

He pushes the soiled fabric to the side and sinks his thick finger into your wet hole, collecting the remnants of his release still gathered between the lips of your cunt. You try to hide your pleasure and near-gasps at the intense sensation behind the thin glass of your wine. 

“Gotta make sure it sticks, sweetheart,” Joel rasps, only for you to hear. 

You mask a moan with a laugh, as if Joel said something funny, instead of the lewd remark he made. 

Joel finger fucking his cum back into you under the dinner table wasn’t quite what you had planned for the evening. 

But it’s Thanksgiving, and you’re grateful.

++++

After a successful dinner, you and Joel say goodbye to the last guests to leave. You shut the door behind them, and lock the deadbolt. You turn your back to face the door, and Joel’s eyes are trained on yours. You can see it from the look in his eyes, the want and the hunger that simmers behind his dilated pupils. 

Joel walks over to you and brings his fingers under your jaw, tilting you to look up at him. He plants a soft kiss on your lips, and you melt into him. 

“You did a lot of work today, baby. C’mere, let’s get you into bed,” he offers, tapping your outer thigh and you get the hint. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he picks you up and carries you up the stairs to your bedroom. 

Once in bed, Joel takes his time with you. He languidly eats you, savoring the taste of you like you’re better than the Apple Pie he had for dessert a mere hour ago. He would attest that you are, in fact, better than the dessert from earlier. 

He’s affectionate, tender, peppering kisses everywhere his lips can reach between the soft pecks, he tells you how much he loves you, and how he can’t wait to see you grow your first baby. He fucks you, slow and intentionally, and gives you another load of his cum. 

“I’m staying inside of you until you’re knocked up, sweetheart,” he says, his hard cock softening inside of you, plugging you up so his cum can’t escape. As he lays there playing with your hair, you hear his breath slow and he eventually lets out the soft twitches of early sleep.  

You place your hand on your belly over his, where he keeps a tight grip on you, pulling you close to his chest, even in his sleep. Even if you’re not pregnant yet, you know you’re sure as hell gonna have a fun time trying. 

“Night, baby,” you say to him, hoping this time next year he’s not the only one you’ll be calling that.

[starlitangels]

Thanksgiving with the Greers

I hereby dedicate this fic to @frenchiefitzhere and her versions of Marie and Colm and their relationship because I like Frenchie's version better than canon. This takes place years ago, btw 2.0k words

Also. I frickin' started writing this like back in spring or summer. Idk what was up with my brain that it took me until last Saturday to actually finish it

—

Asher jolted as his phone started ringing. He scooped it up.

Incoming Call… Little Man Syndrome™

“Hey Milo,” Asher greeted, holding the phone up to his ear. “What’s up?”

“What’re ya doin’ for dinner tonight?” Milo asked.

“Leftover pizza and wings. Why?”

Over the connection, a long string of expletives met Asher’s ears. But not from Milo.

“Ma—Ma—don’t blow your top just yet,” Milo said placatingly, voice distant from the mic. Before getting closer. “Ash. You realize what today is right?”

“Uh… Thursday?”

“Which Thursday?” Milo prompted.

“Well, hell, Greer. I don’t know.”

He heard the impact of Milo smacking himself in the forehead. “Oh for the love of—” Milo was cut off by Marie swearing again. “Ma! I got this!”

“You’d better 'got this' young man or Asher is never gonna hear the end of it from me!” Marie snapped.

“Ash,” Milo said, level but clearly irritated. “Today is Thanksgiving.”

“Ohhh! Is that why David invited me to go to his dad’s house with him for dinner?”

“Presumably. Why didn’t you go?”

“I don’t know I just thought it was Thursday!”

“Only you could be so time-blind to forget a holiday like this,” Milo muttered. “Look—”

“Asher Reed Talbot, you get your ass to this house in one hour, ya hear?” Marie interrupted.

Milo sighed. “Ma, I was gonna do it the polite way. Like a gentleman. Like you taught me.”

Marie’s voice softened immediately. “I know, baby,” she said. Asher heard her kiss Milo’s hair. “But sometimes a boy needs a mother to kick him in the pants in the right direction.”

Milo chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “Anyway, Ash. I’d ask if you’d care to join us for Thanksgiving dinner but I think that ship has sailed.”

Asher laughed. “I think you’re right. I’ll be over in an hour,” he said. “What’s the dress code?”

“I don’t care if you show up in your underwear so long as you’re here,” Marie said, still sharp with exasperation. “No son of mine—of my friends’—is eatin’ leftover pizza and wings alone on Thanksgivin’ if I have anything to say about it!”

“And clearly you do,” Colm’s quieter voice added even more distant from Milo’s phone.

“Hush, you,” Marie said, a smile in her voice. “One hour, Asher!”

“Yes ma’am!” Asher agreed. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself,” Colm supplied.

“Okay. Will do.”

“Bye,” Milo said.

“See ya soon.” He hung up and put the pizza box back in the fridge. Setting his phone down on the counter in the apartment, he rushed to his room.

Thanksgiving dinner had always been a business casual dinner at his house. Probably because Madelyn and her mate flew home for it every other year and his parents wanted to make an event of it. This was the first Thanksgiving they weren’t going to be home for, traveling somewhere in… Korea or somewhere.

And knowing Marie…

“Khakis and a polo should be fine,” Asher decided.

—

“HA!” Milo barked the second Asher slipped through the front door—not bothering to knock. The Shaw and Greer houses were second homes to him. He never knocked if the door was unlocked. Which it usually was. “Someone’s overdressed!”

Asher turned to see Milo in jeans and a T-shirt with a cartoon turkey on it.

Marie thwacked Milo upside the head gently with the back of the mixing spoon in her hand. “Well how ‘boutchu go dress to match him, huh?”

Milo rubbed the back of his head. “Wait—you serious?”

Marie fixed him with a look only a mother could give. “Very,” she said.

Milo sighed. “Fine. I will.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ash. “And I’ll look even better’n you in it.”

Asher snorted. “You can try.”

Milo stomped toward the hallway, flipping the bird over his shoulder.

“Milo Anthony Greer!” Marie warned.

Milo’s hand dropped immediately. “Sorry, Ma!” He scampered off for his room.

Asher sheepishly approached Marie. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I know you said an hour and it’s been an hour and fifteen—”

“And I knew you’d be late which is why I said an hour when dinner was an hour and a half away from bein’ finished.”

Asher chuckled. “Do you know everything?”

Marie smiled and cupped Asher’s cheek in one hand—the one not holding the mixing spoon. “Just my boys,” she said with a wink. “Now get those rolls in the oven for me then get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“Yes ma’am.” Asher ducked around her to assist immediately, knowing better than to hesitate.

Colm was in the living room. A replay of the big parade in New York was going on the TV, but Colm wasn’t watching it. He was reading from a sheaf of papers on the coffee table.

Asher cleared his throat. “Look, uh, Marie,” he started quietly, heat burning at his neck and ears. “I just. I wanted to thank you. For thinking of me tonight. And for… y’know. Inviting me.” He closed the oven door and took the mitt off. But didn’t straighten to his full height. His shoulders were slouched forward and his eyes were cast down to the hardwood floor.

Marie gave him a warm smile. “Asher,” she said fondly. “You are always welcome here, you got that? Now, I don’t care if it’s Thanksgiving or a random Monday in the middle of May. You are family. And there will always be a place for you at our table.”

Asher blinked away a sudden salty sting in his eyes. “Thanks Marie,” he said, trying to swallow the thickness of his voice from the emotion in his chest. “I appreciate that.”

Marie turned back to the gravy she’d been making. From scratch. Of course. Marie Greer would never dream of any other kind of gravy disgracing her kitchen. “I’m happy for your parents. Gettin’ the chance to travel like they always talked and dreamed about. And I respect their decision to do it while they’re still young enough to withstand how exhaustin’ it is.” Her mouth narrowed into a frown. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of all-a it.” Her warm grey eyes—the same as Milo’s—flicked over to him. “They didn’t need t’ leave you here alone.”

Asher shrugged. "They thought I was old enough to live without them."

"Livin' without your parents doesn't mean ya don't still need their influence or advice." Her voice had gone hard with disapproval.

"Hey, that's what I have you for!" Asher joked brightly.

Marie leveled a Look™ at him. "You're damn right," she said seriously.

Colm covered a scoff by clearing his throat in the other room. Marie turned her Look™ briefly toward her mate before going back to her gravy.

Asher slunk carefully out of the kitchen, managing to only knock a mixing spoon onto the ground—that he quickly put back—and not mess up anything else.

Milo was stalking back into the living room, sour look on his face, having changed into a polo shirt and khakis himself.

It was, of course, Asher's job in life to give Milo a hard time. They were brothers in all but blood. But Asher admitted—silently, to himself, never out loud—that Milo definitely pulled off a polo and khakis better than he did. Milo was one of those lucky suckers who looked good in everything. Asher was tall and leanly muscled, but being tall sometimes made things look too short on him.

Milo didn't have that problem.

"Hey. Hey Milo," Asher started.

"What?" Milo retorted.

"You've got somethin' on your face."

Milo raised a single, sarcastic eyebrow. Waiting.

"Yeah. Y'know, I think it's called sour grapes."

"Oh you—" Milo moved as though to take a swing at Asher. Who ducked with a laugh and dodged out of the way.

—

Marie looked through the archway between the living room and the kitchen, watching her boys goof off and chase each other around like they had since they were little. She smiled to herself as she took the gravy off the heat and turned off the stove. A quick check through the oven window revealed the rolls were coming along.

As they kept baking, she started moving everything she'd made from the cookware she'd finished them in, to a pretty crystal serving dish. Then took them, two at a time, to the dining room table.

The clearing of a throat announced that Colm had gotten up from looking at his case files to help her. She smiled at him. He kissed the side of her head and took the two dishes from her hands, letting her grab two more.

After taking the two dishes, Colm set the table. After letting his mate choose the most festive tablecloth.

She got the rolls out of the oven right as the timer went off and quickly got them out of the pan and into a little basket with a white cloth lining it.

"A'right boys!" Marie announced, whipping her apron off after wiping her hands on it one last time. "Wash your hands and sit your asses down at the table."

Milo and Asher both froze from where Milo had managed to yank Asher down to his eye level and get him in a headlock. Marie met both of their eyes in turn, a stern look on her face. Milo cleared his throat and let go of Asher's neck. Both of them straightened their shirts and bustled—still poking and prodding at one another—into the kitchen to wash their hands. "Yes, Ma," Milo said automatically.

They knew better than to protest.

Marie and Colm sat on one side of the table. The boys sat on the other.

Milo leaned over to Asher. "We do the stuff we're thankful for before we eat," he whispered. Asher nodded.

"I'll start," Colm said. "I'm grateful, this year, for patience. The patience that my family has shown me." He reached under the table and gave Marie's leg a squeeze. She did her best not to react as his hand slipped a little higher up her leg before sliding off back to Colm's side.

She cleared her throat. "I'm grateful for my family," she said. "I'm grateful for a mate who loves me and works hard for us. I'm grateful for a pack that welcomed us as family all those years ago and never once acted otherwise. I'm grateful for an amazing, strong, brave son who has every right to be as confident as he is. And I'm grateful for all his friends who have become his family. Because they're my family. And I'm grateful that Ash could join us tonight, so he could be with family on Thanksgivin'."

She pretended not to notice Asher wiping a tear off on his sleeve.

"A'ight. My turn," Milo said. "Welp. This year... I guess I'm grateful for... everythin' I've been able to do. I learned a lot of lessons this year, and all-a 'em were important and valuable." He turned to Asher.

Who cleared his throat. "I, uh... I'm grateful for a lot of stuff. I'm really grateful for the pack that I got to be raised in. I'm grateful that David somehow has the patience to be my roommate. I'm grateful that I haven't burnt the apartment building down yet. And... I'm grateful for the Greer family. For being willing to accept me into your home on a holiday that's stressful enough as it is. Whether I wanted to come over or not." He smiled around a chuckle. "Thank you, for always making me feel welcome and at home." He swallowed. "Now can we please eat? I'm hungry!"

Colm and Milo both started laughing along with Asher. Marie just met his eyes with a loving look on her face. Sure, Ash was Frank and his mate's kid. But Ash was Marie's kid too. He certainly was now that the Talbots were traveling, but she'd loved him like a son since he and Milo had been close friends.

He gave her a grateful smile. She returned it.

"Go ahead an' dish up before it gets cold, boys," she said.

"Thank you," Milo said, reaching for the mashed potatoes.

—

General Shaw Pack and Characters Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @pinksparkl @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom

[gallusrostromegalus]

So I have noticed something very interesting. Gin is buttering up aizen to feed him to the god machine as some premuim petrol. BUT ALSO many powerful souls that die DON't get fed to the god machine. They go to hell because they are powerfull enough that their removal from the world harms the god machine more than feeding them helps it. So my question is, whats up with that?

there's a couple parts to this:

Powerful souls that go to hell because they're powerful ARE STILL feeding The Life Machine- All that power they're off-gassing in Hell is still going into The Life machine- Hell exists more or less as a ringer to squeeze spiritual energy out of souls before sending them back into the cycle to grow again.

It harms The Life machine more to consume a powerful soul in totality because then The Life Machine doesn't get to use that *particualrly good* soul to generate energy it needs again, and again, and again- So someone like Yamamoto is going to go around about a zillion more times, if things go well.

Problem is, things are NOT going well right now- the wheel is jammed and not giving the Life Machine nearly the energy it needs, so it needs an emergency calorie dump while Tech Support works out how to unjam the wheel, which may, technically, involve stopping and starting it again.

The final thing is a matter of scale. if we think of souls in terms of calories: >Regular animal/plant soul: One Cheez-it. Not a lot individually, but they add up. >Regular Human Soul: One Chicken Nugget/celery and peanut butter. it's technically a snack, but it's not satisfying on it's own. >Average Shingami, Quincy footsoldier or lesser hollow Soul: Fast-food meal. About as much food at most people really need in a day. >Captain-class Shinigami or Espada-class Hollows or Sternritter: Giant Meal At Grandma's House that leaves you passed out on the couch and the leftovers she sends you home with that feed you for a week. >Aizen, once he fuses with the hollow inside the Hogyoku and achieves his Final Form: Actually eating every last crumb of every last dish at the Family Reunion thanksgiving with four grandmas cooking: Two turkeys, A Standing Rib Roast, A Ham, six kinds of soup, two salads, four types of baked vegetables, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, baked potatoes, potatoes au gratin, popovers, busicuits, rolls and bread, an actual ocean of gravy- and then there's dessert: Apple pie, pumkin pie, pecan pie, cherry pie, chocolate cake, cookies, early christmas cookies, avalanches of whipped cream. And ofc- cider and beer and hot chocolate and coffee and soda and fuck it just drink a whole gallon of milk while you're at it. More food than any human should consume in a whole year, let alone one sitting.

So you can see why Aizen is getting pulled out of the cycle for special treatment. He's gonna be there for The Life Machine to gnaw on for most of the series. And even then, after suffering the most direct and intimate contact anyone can get with what passes for god, The Life Machine may yet choose to send his empty, heavily chewed husk back for another turn because that why waste the seed of a good crop like?

[juneknight]

Giving Thanks

Cute little Thanksgiving themed blurb featuring DRM for the girlies in the roleplay discord and A most of all.

About this: Marc spending Thanksgiving alone in the dorms? Not on your watch.

Immersivity: Reader is AFAB though physically undescribed and unnamed. She does attend college and does have a family which celebrates Thanksgiving in typical American fashion.

*

You’re not supposed to be here. 

Using your badge to get into the dorms is easy. Catching Marc when he is in the dorm room is harder. He was prone to melancholy, and his melancholy made him prone to wandering: the university pathways between buildings, the library, the baseball field. Before he had moved into  your dorm room, he was almost never at his own. 

Though you had invited (begged) him to come home with you for Thanksgiving, he had insisted on staying behind at the dorms. You knew his home life was complicated, his emotional connection to the word ‘family’ just as complex, so you hadn’t pushed him, even if leaving him alone during a holiday was painful. 

Staring at the mountains of leftovers your family always left behind after Thanksgiving lunch, you had decided on the spur of the moment that there was no way you were going to let Marc spend this day alone. Taking two disposable muffin tins, you had piled them both full of different foods, creating a classic American Thanksgiving smorgasbord: turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, fresh whipped cream and more. 

Technically, you weren’t supposed to be in the dorms—not after you had signed your waiver stating you would be away for the holidays–but fuck, it would be worth it to see Marc’s face. It would be worth it to see him, to wrap your arms around him in a hug, to see him light up the way he always seemed to when you were around—

“What are you doing here?” 

You whirl around, nearly upending the muffin tins when Marc’s voice calls out from behind you just outside your dorm room door. He’s wearing his winter coat, the thick boots that keep his feet warm while he stomps his way across the cold pavement. A beanie is tugged low over his head, curls peeking out against his forehead and ears. His cheeks are flushed a little beneath his typical tan skin. 

“Have you been following me?” you ask. 

“Ever since you got out of your car. I was just coming back from the library and I saw you, you little sneak.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” you blurt out, holding out the muffin tins. His eyes fall to them, and something in his gaze goes warm. 

“You…brought me lunch,” he says. 

*

You end up as lunch.

The muffin tins and their contents are growing cool while Marc spreads you out on the table with the mismatched chairs (half yours and half his own, like a little blended family that you had joint custody of). He peels off your boots and socks and pulls down your leggings, spreading your thighs out as wide as your body allows, til your pussy is exposed to the cool air of the dorm. 

Then he eats you—and Marc is a messy eater. He eats your pussy without any sense of shame, no embarrassment at the sounds his mouth makes (nor any cruel amusement in the sounds your own body makes) as he works you over with lips, tongue, and teeth. Sweet Marc always starts with his lips: pecks against your thighs and vulva that turn into wet, sucking kisses, his tongue slipping between your folds and pressing in deep against your entrance like you’re leaking honey and not just slick. His smooth jaw works against you, stimulating your sensitive sex while he latches his lips over your clit and sucks, soft and sweet. It is all remarkably rushed for the likes of Marc (who usually drags sex out into a marathon-performance instead of a sprint), but you hardly mind when your muscles tense, thighs shaking from how far apart they are spread as you soak his face and the table with your orgasm. 

“Oh my god,” you slur, trembling like a leaf. You can’t stop shaking as he stands, his hands falling to his belt. The soft clink as he undoes it instills a Pavlovian response in you, and even though you have just cum, you ache with emptiness. 

“Want to fuck you,” he mutters, jaw still wet with your slick. “Can I?” 

“God, yes.” 

“Hold yourself open.” 

You reach down and spread the lips of your pussy open, watching with a watering mouth as he works his pants and underwear down just beneath his cock. Fuck, his boots are still on. Why is that so sexy? 

With his hands on your thighs, he drags you to the edge of the table. Marc leans over you, cock nudging at your entrance when he plants his palms on the oak. He watches your expression as the fat head of him splits you open. He likes to see the way your mouth goes slack, your eyes roll back, your nails scramble for purchase against the smooth wood. 

“So good to me, bringing me food,” he mutters, curls brushing your forehead when he leans down to kiss you. “Bringing me this pretty pussy. How’d you know I was hungry? How’d you know how bad I missed you?”  

“It’s–It’s–Th-Th-Thanksgiv—oh my fucking god, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You dissolve, the subtle height the table provides you pressing him against all your most sensitive spots. At the apex of each thrust, his pubic bone grinds against your clit, still buzzing from his tongue. 

“This is me giving thanks,” Marc says, laughing breathily at his own joke, each word punctuated by a thrust that you feel all the way in your guts.

[stardust-sunset]

We always talk about the Curtis bros, but do you have any Johnny hcs? ❤️🎞️

Oh absolutely!

(tw for suicide and s/h mentions)

He used to feed the stray animals of the lot-he’d be walking to the Curtis’ house and there would be an army of kittens and puppies following him

He names them all too, he has favorites but he won’t admit it

His favorite is a black lab he named Mocha and a dark brown cat with green eyes that he named Cinnamon (he loves his food related names)

He has the biggest appetite out of everyone in the gang-when the Curtis brothers would host thanksgiving they would make two turkeys for that reason alone

He’s very light footed and will sidle people by mistake

He hates bio because he hates dissecting things (more so after bobs death- i refuse to accept that Johnny died)

He knows karate because he would watch through a window (tying together Ralph Macchio’s roles lol)

His hair is canonically super fluffy not greased back (in the movie at least) and he secretly loves when people play with it but will never let anyone actually do it unless it’s a gang member

He always makes sassy little quips under his breath and no one gets mad because they’re actually kinda funny and original

Before their deaths, Johnny was super super close to Mrs. Curtis

Like she would leave slices of cake or leftovers from dinner on the windowsill because she knew he was too prideful (and too worried about bothering anyone) to actually ask

He doesn’t get bloated no matter how much he eats. Soda is insanely jealous

He’s not big on cuddling because he’s just jumpy but sometimes he’ll snuggle up with Pony in the lot

He’s one of the shortest in the gang, right after Sodapop (i’d say he’s 5’10’’ or so)

‘He is undefeated in burping contests and he’s proud of it (unless he’s in public then he gets all shy. Dally gives him shit for it like “come on we’ve all heard you before! don’t get all chicken on us now!”)

He isn’t subtle about being hungry either. He by far has the loudest stomach in the gang (coincidental for him being so quiet)

Him and Pony were inseparable as kids and Soda was insanely jealous (he got over it after Mrs Curtis explained Johnny doesn’t have anyone at home like Pony and that Soda has him all the time while Johnny doesn’t)

He never drinks. Ever. Even when he’s of age because he’s seen what it’s done to his parents and it scares him

The rest of the gang know this and they don’t drink around him or come near him when they’re actually drunk

He’s the prettiest crier you’ll ever see

He was an oops baby and his parents have no shame in telling him so. Because of this he often feels like a mistake and takes it out on himself in very bad ways

He has an older sister but she ran away and left him behind. He used to resent her for it but then started wondering if he would’ve gone through with it if she had gone with him

He loves croissants

He isn’t a fan of chocolate and swears sour/gummy things are better (him and Pony have bickered about this)

He has no problem standing up for himself against the gang if he thinks they’re being unfair to him

He’s not really competitive but he’s oddly good at making bets

He doesn’t bother taking a lunch period in school because he never has food anyway

He gets easily embarrassed when people know he’s hungry because he feels like he’s being a burden or something

His mom is Hispanic and his dad is Native American

He’s fluent in Spanish because of this and knows a bunch of insults (mainly because his mom used them on him)

He has a high spice tolerance but spicy stuff makes him burp and hiccup like crazy

He’s a quiet crier. Like he’ll just put his head down and you’ll hear teeny tiny gasps. He kinda trained himself to be quiet though

He loves ducklings. He’s rehabilitated a number of animals because he has genuine care for them but ducklings and birds were always his favorites

He’s on the ace spectrum (Demisexual)

He has the biggest brownest eyes imaginable and knows when to use the puppy eyes to get what he wants (even Dally can’t so no to those puppy eyes)

He often makes jokes absolutely degrading himself and the gang always sits him down for a “101 reasons why we love Johnny” session

He made a joke about offing himself one time. Did not end well. The gang panicked and wouldn’t let him be anywhere alone for months because they were so worried

Speaking of, he’s attempted a number of times but was obviously never successful

He always feels a lump in his throat when he sees anyone with s/h scars because it means they’re hurting in a similar way to him

His parents tried to institutionalize him once but the gang got there before anything could actually happen

His response she to fear tends to be snap back. It’s all he knows. So if he’s afraid or feels threatened he will snap and yell at you

He hates feeling like a pet. The soc girls at school would treat him like a quiet shy pet until he snapped back at them

He despises nearly every soc (before he met cherry and expanded his thought process)

He has a pine allergy and once Darry had a pine scented candle and he almost died (Darry felt awful because he didn’t know)

Whenever the gang roughhouses they go light on him and make a point to not insult him because they don’t want it to turn into something his parents would do

I kinda like to headcanon that he has vitiligo but on his arms and back and such but he’s really insecure about it so he hides it

He has pretty bad PTSD and his panic attacks are intense

He has told the gang to “shut the fuck up” when they got too loud

Coincidentally he despises johnnycakes (he melts when it’s used as a nickname for him tho)

He’s kinda big on pet names because he didn’t get that a lot as a kid from anyone besides Mrs. Curtis. But he also doesn’t like to feel babied

That’s all I have for now-really went on the angst train…woof-anyway-hope you enjoy!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Wibta if I brought a sandwich to a thanksgiving meal?

I have a food allergy that's in everything, but it's fairly easy to avoid if you're making your own food (especially from scratch). Unfortunately, it's also a very uncommon allergy and I've had a lot of people who think it's made up or that I'm just really picky and lying about having an allergy. Most people are cool about it, but enough people aren't cool about it that I have a baseline of anxiety about eating food that I didn't cook- ESPECIALLY at other people's houses. I usually try to plan ahead because of this and either make sure the host is cool with accommodating my allergy or that I have safe food with me.

My partner's friends invited us to a thanksgiving with a mix of their friends and family. In the group, there are a number of other dietary restrictions including someone who's vegan and someone who's gluten free. We asked ahead of time, and the host has options to accommodate both of those dietary needs but not my allergy. We've been invited to lots of other meals at this same friend's house, and they've only tried to work around my allergy once but they still used a bunch of food with that ingredient and I ended up having to sit outside for part of the day because the smell was making me sick. Last year we also went to a thanksgiving at their house, but it was after our own thanksgiving so I just brought leftovers. However, this year the friend's meal will be a week before we're cooking so I won't have any leftovers.

When discussing it with my partner, I said I would just bring a sandwich. They said that would be rude, and suggested I buy and cook a turkey breast before the friend's gathering. They also said that I don't have to go if I don't feel comfortable. Initially, I said I still wanted to see everyone, but that I didn't see the difference between a sandwich and a turkey breast since either way I would be bringing my own food. My partner is leaving it up to me, but now I'm in my head about it and want to know what other people think. I don't want to be left out of the group because other people won't work with my allergy, but I also don't want to put in a bunch of effort to make up for the fact that other people can't be bothered to leave one ingredient out. Would I be an asshole if I just brought a sandwich instead of cooking a more on theme food?

I'm almost definitely going to have to make a decision before this gets posted, but tbh I genuinely want to know what other people think about this no matter when it gets through the queue. I wouldn't be offended if a guest brought their own food to a meal I cooked, but I'm also just one person and definitely not representative of the general population.

What are these acronyms?

[wheels-of-despair]

The First Lazy Thanksgiving Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie comes to stay with Evil Woman during Thanksgiving Break '85 for a lazy and turkey-filled few days... but do holiday plans ever actually turn out the way they're supposed to? Contains: Lazy plans gone awry, unscheduled visits from unwanted family, food prep, stolen moments, fast-forwarding through stressful things because it's my story and I can, cunty relatives, smokin' the reefer, a proposal, leftovers, lots of time spent with Team Evil Woman. (If you're not into the family fics, I won't hold it against you.) Words: 7.8k

Note: This one goes out to everyone who'd rather be spending today with Eddie.

"What's your favorite Thanksgiving food?"

Eddie looks over at you without missing a note in the song he's practicing in his chair. You're lying on your side on his bed, one hand propping up your head and the other still on the book you've abandoned in favor of watching him play Other Sweetheart.

He shrugs and looks back down at his flying fingers. "All tastes the same to me."

"What." It doesn't come out as a question, because it is an outrage. You know that Wayne works so much overtime during the holidays, he doesn't even bother coming home, and that the Munsons aren't big on family meals… but has no one ever invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner? Even for a round of leftovers? Or sent him a plate?!

"We usually grab a few Thanksgiving-y TV dinners for when he gets off work." Eddie holds his guitar upright and plays a more complicated tune to downplay his explanation.

You feel guilty for leaving him alone last year. You'd only been with him for a few months, but you'd gone back to the place you'd just escaped from to spend another stuffy Thanksgiving with your family. That's what he did while you were away? Ate a tasteless TV dinner?

"No, wait," he says quickly, "Jeff's mom made him bring me a plate last year. Stuffing was the best."

You try to mask the pity on your face, but he notices. His eyes turn to steel.

"I'm not a charity case. The Munsons don't need to celebrate meaningless shit whenever The Man tells them to." This sounds a little rehearsed. He holds your gaze, but his face soon softens. "Don't go gettin' all mushy on me, woman."

"How dare you. This cold black heart does not get mushy," you insist. He raises an eyebrow. He knows better. "Unless there are pictures of really cute baby animals," you continue. "But you tell anybody that, and this'll be your last Thanksgiving, Munson." You point a finger at him in warning.

He snorts and looks back to his guitar, starting a new song.

"I was merely doing as my mother instructed," you explain, rolling onto your back and looking up at his ceiling. "Because you're coming to Lazy Thanksgiving, and she wanted to make sure we had plenty of your favorite." You pause, waiting for his curiosity to get the better of him. He stops playing. You've got him.

"…what's Lazy Thanksgiving?"

You smirk. "It's is our first Thanksgiving without all of my annoying-ass relatives, so we're doing it OUR way, all week long. Which means food we actually like, people we actually like, and pajamas all damn day. Just like we've always dreamed of. So pack your best sweats, Munson, 'cause you're staying with us 'til Wayne's off doubles."

You glance over to check for a response.

"Is that an invitation or an order?" He's fighting a smile. He's coming.

"That's up to you, babe." You bat your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, sets his guitar aside, and crosses the room to crawl on top of you. His chin rests in the valley between your breasts, and you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

"You really want me?"

"Like right now, or over Thanksgiving break?" you tease. Before his lips can even form a pout, you continue, "'Cause the answer to both is a definite yes."

There was only half a day of school on Tuesday, but it felt like longer than usual. You wanted to be OUT of there.

The groceries were bought, the turkey was thawing, your family was hours away, and Eddie was coming to stay for several days. It really was the Thanksgiving you'd always dreamed of. There would be no awkward catch-ups, no uncomfortable clothes, no arguments or hostility, and no weird dishes with undesirable or un-pronounceable ingredients. You couldn't wait.

You and Eddie were out of your seats and on the way to your shared locker before the final bell of the day finished ringing. You shoved all the crap you wouldn't need into the metal prison - rescuing Eddie's discarded history notebook with the intention of making him study, which earned you a whine - and slammed the door shut.

He hooked his arm around your neck and marched you through the hall and out the doors, where you took your first breath of free air.

No school for a week. Just what the doctor ordered.

You climbed into the van's passenger seat and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. On today's menu was band practice - in lieu of their usual Hideout gig, which had been called on account of the owner not wanting to scare off the home-for-the-holidays crowd with teenage metal - then breaking for family stuff 'til a special Hellfire session on Saturday. Other than that, everybody was on their own.

The boys chattered about their plans for the week until the van jerked to a stop in your driveway, and everyone piled out and headed into the garage. You went into the kitchen, to see what kind of snacks you could dig out. Nevermind that they'd just eaten lunch half an hour ago; you cannot practice metal without fuel. It's against the law. (According to Gareth, anyway, who would make a terrible lawyer.)

The look on your mother's face stopped you in your tracks.

She was holding the phone in a white-knuckle grip. Eyes narrowed. You could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

What have you done? You quickly scan a week's worth of Hawkins High shenanigans, but can't think of any mischief that would warrant a call home for you. Your brother, either. What the fuck?

She gestures for you to close the door, and you do… definitely not thinking about stepping on the other side of it before you do so.

"Alright. See you soon," she says through gritted teeth. She stands to hang up the phone on the kitchen wall, then knocks her head against it. You're still frozen to the spot.

Finally, she removes her head from the wall and turns to you. "Get your brother in here."

You reach for the door handle, point to Gareth, and crook your finger in a 'come here' motion. He comes in, stands next to you, and waits.

"Your grandparents have decided to grace us with their presence."

You both groan.

"They'll be here by dinnertime."

"Tonight?!" you both shriek.

"It's only for a day. They want to be back home in time for the real family Thanksgiving."

"So we're upending everything we've planned to accommodate them?" You can feel the rage swirling inside you.

She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've gotta make a new grocery list, if there's even anything left at the store, find the recipe for that stupid pie, make something for dinner tonight, get that turkey thawed a day early, clean, drive my car into the quarry…"

"We can handle dinner and cleaning," you say at the same time Gareth asks, "Why do you need a new grocery list?"

"Can you imagine your grandmother's face if she found out I served her a dinner roll I didn't make from scratch?"

"She'll live." You roll your eyes.

"And she doesn't, that's one less thing we have to wor…" Gareth clears his throat, and you try not to smirk.

"Go practice, it's the last fun you'll have 'til they're gone."

He turns on his heel at her suggestion and disappears into the garage.

"Where do you want me, Coach?"

"Help me with this damn grocery list."

You made a list of all the foods you thought you were leaving behind, flipped through recipe cards until you found the things your grandparents expected, and checked the cabinets to see what you already had. So long, Lazy Thanksgiving. You were a nice thought.

When the page-long list was complete, your mother set off to the grocery store. Again.

You hid all the food your grandparents would disapprove of, then dug through the freezer and found pizza rolls for the boys and a forgotten lasagna for dinner. You popped the pizza rolls in the oven and tidied the kitchen to the sounds of Corroded Coffin. Possibly the last decent music you'd hear for the next 24 hours. Your grandparents would probably call for an exorcist if they saw your tape collection.

Your head was buried in a bottom cabinet when the oven timer dinged, catching you by surprise and making you bump your head. You back out on your hands and knees and grumble, rubbing your sore spot, when you feel a burst of hot air.

"Watch it, hot stuff." Eddie grins, pulling the pan of pizza rolls from the oven with a potholder shaped like a turkey.

You stand and lean against the counter, exhausted already.

"Told the jackals they couldn't eat 'til they cleaned the garage," he grins proudly.

"Thank you." You hadn't even thought about having to clean the garage.

"You want me to stick around, or just get lost 'til the coast is clear?"

"What?" You look up in confusion.

"I mean…" he gestures to his clothes and flips the end of his hair. He's a little sweaty and his hair's a little tangled, but you don't know what he's getting at… oh.

"You think we're uninviting you?"

"I'm not exactly grandparent material." He forces out an awkward chuckle that makes your heart sink. You step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him close.

"You're not going anywhere unless you take me with you." You nuzzle your face into his chest, and he gives you a squeeze. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go anywhere unless I take Mom with me. Wait." You pull back, wide-eyed, and ask, "Can we all just hide out at your place until the old people give up and go away?"

"I wish," your mother grumbles, back from her grocery run. She drops a load of bags on the table, and the boys follow with more.

"Okay," she says, scanning the room. "Kitchen looks good. Garage looks good. Did you find something for dinner?"

"A frozen lasagna from your meal prep era."

"Okay. We have three hours to clean. Then I need you in a dress."

You groan, and Gareth snickers.

"And YOU," she turns to him, "in khakis." That wipes the grin off his face.

"Eddie?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You are absolutely still invited. But if you want to run and hide, we will not think less of you." He smiles. "Do you own a pair of pants without holes in them?" He nods. "Okay." And then she starts putting groceries away, and that was that.

You catch Eddie's eye, then nod to the pan of now-edible pizza rolls. He picks it up and leads the boys back outside, where they descend on it like locusts, while you tackle the mountain of groceries.

When Eddie returns with the empty pan, he addresses your mother.

"I'm gonna go drop Jeff and Grant off. Are you sure you…" he trails off nervously, hovering near the door.

"Honey." Your mom places her hands on the table, leans forward, and stares into his soul. "I want you here more than I want them here."

He chuckles. " I'll go home and grab some clothes. Do you need me to pick up anything else?"

"Nope, I think we've got everything," she answers. "But I appreciate the offer."

He nods, gives you wink, and leaves to take the nerds home.

Your family whirls through the house like cyclones, dusting and scrubbing and straightening everything in view. Eddie joins in when he returns, which makes things move even faster.

The house is deemed acceptable with an hour to spare. You pop the lasagna into the oven, take rushed showers, and change into clothing acceptable to grandparents.

"Woah," Eddie says when he steps back into your room with dripping hair and a towel around his waist, seeing you in your modest (hideous) dress.

"Shut up."

"You never wear pretty things like that for me," he teases.

"Keep it up, Munson, and you're gonna be feasting on one of these stupid fucking shoulder pads."

He cackles and throws his towel at you. You catch it, and get a delightful idea when he turns around to get dressed.

You wind up the damp towel, and when he bends over to pull his boxers on… SNAP.

He yelps, jumps a foot in the air, and grabs his ass with both hands.

"YOU'RE THE DEVIL!"

You howl with laughter. Was it mean? Yes. Was it funny? Yes. Did he deserve it? Also yes.

"Look what you did to me!" he shrieks, rubbing at a red welt rising on his pale ass.

Your jaw drops.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you THAT bad." All traces of amusement are gone as you go to him and trace the mark.

"Guess you could always kiss it and make it better," he pouts, sticking his lip out and activating the dreaded Puppy Eyes.

You fall to your knees and plant a trail of light kisses around the raised mark on Eddie Munson's ass. When you look up, he's staring at you with wide eyes, like he hadn't really expected you to do it.

"What? Never had a girl kiss your ass before?"

You both dissolve into a fit of giggles until a knock interrupts.

"Are you decent?"

"Never," you answer together, grinning at each other.

You can hear your mother sigh through the door. You stand, and Eddie hastily continues getting dressed.

"Eddie, I need you to sleep in Gareth's room tonight. He's setting up his sleeping bag for you."

"Okay," he agrees.

"Best behavior."

"Yes, ma'am," Eddie says.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Eddie snorts.

"Yes, Mother," you call, giving him a shove. He loses his balance and falls onto your bed with a grin.

"Alright." She raps her knuckles against the door once more and walks away.

Eddie's lying back on your bed, feet on the floor and hands laced behind his head. He's in a plain white t-shirt and dark, unbuttoned jeans that reveal his plaid boxers… and just a liiittle bit of his happy trail. He smirks when he sees you looking.

"Quit dripping on my bed." You pick up his discarded towel and throw it at him, letting it hit him in the face. He sits up, unbothered, to rub his wet hair with it. At least he didn't shake it out like a dog. (Although you have seen him do that before.)

You give your room a once-over, straightening a few books and smoothing out the blankets on your bed. Eddie stuffs his things into a duffel bag and drops it on the floor of your brother's room, where he'll be sleeping tonight.

The plan had actually been for the three of you to camp out in the living room and watch movies all night, but that would have to wait. Your grandmother would probably pitch a fit about Eddie being allowed to sleep under the same roof as you. You'd love to see her face if she found out you'd slept in the same bed before.

You hear the oven timer ding again; dinner is ready. They'll be here soon. You get up to go set the table, but decide you want just one more minute alone with Eddie before the invasion. You go in for a hug and stand still in the middle of your bedroom, just enjoying the quiet.

"Should I button this?" he mumbles when you pull away, looking down at his flannel shirt and then back at you.

"Up to you. You'll look nice either way."

He bites his lip and pulls his shirt together, fingers fumbling. He gets three buttons done before realizing it's crooked. His face starts to turn red from frustration.

You put your hands on his, then move them to his sides. You calmly unbutton, and then re-button his shirt, straightening out his collar when you finish for good measure.

"Should I tuck it in?"

"Edward." You take his face in your hands. "You look perfect. Stop worrying. It's gonna be fine." You kiss the tip of his nose.

"What if they hate me?" he asks, his big brown eyes boring into your soul.

"Babe…" you begin gently, brushing his hair out of his face. "They will. But that's okay. Because I think they kinda hate me too. Smile, nod, don't mention anything fun or cool, and you'll survive. And next time I get you to myself, I will make this worth your while."

"Really?" he grins.

"Really." You lean in for a kiss… which is interrupted by the sound of a car horn honking twice. You groan. Gareth walks by your door, in his khakis and button-down, and announces: "They're heeere."

You peel yourselves apart. You straighten your stupid dress in the mirror, and Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Promise you won't stop loving me after you endure this torture?" you ask, reaching for his hand.

"Could it be any worse than the time you made me watch Grease?"

"Are you still pretending you didn't love that movie?"

"I absolutely did not," he lies.

"C'mon, stud, let's get this over with."

The reunion with your grandparents went about as expected. Thankfully, your mother took the brunt of their displeasure.

"Is this a store-bought lasagna?" "No, Mother, I made it from scratch."

"Are you seeing anyone?" "No, Dad." "That's the price of being a working girl, I suppose. Women these days think they can have it all!"

"When's the last time you had this carpet professionally cleaned?" "Last month, Mother."

And then, when your mom was properly worn down, they turned their focus to you.

"What grade are you in now, dear?" "12th." "Oh, you'll graduate this year! Where are you going to college?" "I don't know." "You really should be focusing on that. Can't have any… distractions."

And Gareth.

"I heard you're playing the drums now!" "…yeah." "Are you in a band?" "…yeah." "Well, what kind? Jazz? Symphony?" "…marching?" "That's exciting! And good exercise!"

And Eddie.

"What do your parents do, Edward?" "They're… gone." "What do you mean gone?" "Eddie lives with his uncle," your mother supplied. "He works at the power plant. He's the reason we're not eating in the dark." Your grandmother pursed her lips, but your grandfather nodded his head in approval.

Finally, after the longest dinner in the history of the world, your grandparents decided to turn in.

They retreated to the basement, where the pull-out couch had been made for them - and was probably re-made before they got into it - and you had the upstairs to yourselves again.

Which is when the real work began for everyone else.

Leftovers were put away, dishes were washed, potatoes and carrots were peeled, ingredients were measured, and everything that could be prepped for Wednesday's pre-Thanksgiving meal was prepped. You finished around midnight. Your mother would get up in a few hours to put the turkey in the oven, but the rest of you were off the hook until breakfast.

You kissed Eddie goodnight and went to bed alone.

At nearly five in the morning, the door creaked open and someone entered your bedroom. You cracked an eye open, hoping it was Eddie coming to crawl under the covers with you and steal a snuggle before everyone else woke up. But it was your grandmother, checking to make sure you were alone in your bed. Bitch.

She crept back out, and you glared at the door for half an hour before finally going back to sleep.

The next time you woke, it was because two bodies dropped on either side of you. You kept your eyes closed.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." That one's Eddie.

"Please. Have you ever tried waking her up? She's more like the dragon." Shut up, Gareth.

"Right. Good thing we've got pinned under the covers. She'd probably claw us to shreds."

"Dragon breath is probably the bigger concern right now." You can hear the smirk in Gareth's voice.

"Fuck you both," you grumble. They laugh. "What time is it?"

Eddie looks at his watch. "Almost eight."

"How long you think we can stall before they come get us and drag us into the kitchen for another thrilling conversation over breakfast?"

The three of you sigh, just before your mother peeks her head in.

"Why are you in here? Whatever, I don't care. Get dressed and come eat before she starts in on the 'young people sleeping all day' crap again." She closes the door without waiting for a response.

"Alright, you heard the lady, be gone." You try to stretch, but you don't have much room to move, being pinned beneath your own blankets and all. You lay there, defenseless, until Eddie kisses your cheek and rolls off the bed. Gareth follows.

You grumble your way into another dress you hate, fix your face, and wait in the hallway for them. No way you're going in there alone.

The three of you appear in the kitchen doorway together.

"There they are! I thought they were going to sleep all day!" It's 7:58 on a day when there's no school, you old bat.

"When I was your age, I was awake at 4:30 every morning!" Good for you, gramps.

"Why don't you grab plates and eat in the living room?" Finally, someone speaking sense. Thanks, Mom.

The three of you grab plates and start filling them with sausage, eggs, and silver dollar pancakes.

You look down at the silverware drawer while you retrieve a trio of forks, and when you look up again, your grandmother is staring at you. And then at your plate.

"Remember, dearie: A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!"

Your face flushes. Your blood boils.

"Perhaps you'd like a piece of fruit instead?"

As soon as you're able to move again, you're going to stab her.

"Mother, does this say teaspoon or tablespoon?" your mom asks, holding out a hand-written recipe on an index card. "Go," she mouths when your grandmother turns her attention to the card.

You hurry into the living room and sit on the couch with the boys, staring down at the plate in front of you, still shaking with rage.

Eddie takes the forks and rests his chin on your shoulder. Did he hear it? Oh god, you're going to burst into flames right here.

"Hate to tell you this, but uh…" his voice drops to a whisper. "Your grandma's a real bitch."

You snort. He kisses your cheek and straightens.

"I'll drink to that," Gareth raises his orange juice and takes a swig. He puts his glass down and digs into his breakfast, but you hesitate.

"Stop."

You glance at Eddie. He stabs a piece of his scrambled egg and lifts his fork to your mouth. "You're fucking perfect. And you need fuel to survive today. C'mon. Eat up. Can't have you snapping any little old ladies in half 'cause you're hungry."

You laugh and lean forward to take his offering, then dig into your own plate. Just a few more hours. You can do this.

You let your empty plates sit on the coffee table as you stall, not wanting to go back into the kitchen and remind your grandparents that you're here. You rest your head on Eddie's shoulder, wishing your Lazy Thanksgiving hadn't been derailed.

"What are you just sitting around for when there's work to be done?" Your head snaps up off of Eddie's shoulder when your grandfather enters the room. Busted. The three of you begrudgingly pick up your plates while he settles into an armchair.

"Boys! Tell me about the local team!" he booms.

Oh. Cool. It's just you who needs to be working. You collect the plates without a word and leave the room with mouthed "I'm sorry" to Eddie. He and Gareth look at each other in panic; like they know anything about ANY local team.

"There you are! Did you think this cranberry sauce was going to make itself?"

You think the only person invited to this dinner who actually likes cranberry sauce bought a can of it that's been pushed to the back of the cabinet, but you don't say a word as you drop your breakfast dishes in the sink and fetch the bag of cranberries.

"How long have you been seeing that boy?"

The way she says "that boy" makes you bristle.

"It was a year in September."

"Oh, he didn't waste any time, did he?" You rip open the bag with a little more force than necessary, sending a few berries flying. She tuts from her place at the table, mixing something you wouldn't be eating, as you pick them up.

You take the bag of cranberries to the sink and dump them into a bowl.

"You should be using a strainer for that," she says, after you've already stuck the bowl beneath the faucet. You clench your jaw and start digging for the fucking strainer.

"Do you really think he's the kind of boy you want to be spending so much time with? I'd be ashamed to be seen with him in public. You know, dear," she turns her attention to your mother. "Gareth's getting a little shaggy too. Aren't there any barbers in town?"

This is it. Your last Thanksgiving. You're going to spend the next one in jail. You turn slowly, but before you can face her…

"Don't you have to be at church soon?" You whip your head toward your mother in confusion. Church? You? Has her own mother officially driven her insane?

Her eyes widen and say "get with the program, dummy."

"Oh! Right!" You say cluelessly.

"The kids volunteered to help with the church's Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless," your mother explains to both your grandmother and you. "The youth group is supposed to be at church in a little bit to start cleaning and setting up tables for tomorrow."

"I can't believe I almost forgot," you say, putting the cranberries aside and drying your hands on a towel. "I better go get the boys."

"Yes, you better," your mother nods knowingly. Whatever you were planning to get her for Christmas is no longer enough.

You dart past your grandmother's narrowed eyes and enter the living room. Your grandfather is droning on about defense, and the boys' eyes have glazed over.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," no you're not, "but we better get going soon, if we're going to get to church on time."

Both boys raise an eyebrow, and you mimic your mother's "get with the program" look.

"Church? Today? While your grandparents are in town?"

He doesn't bother to turn, so you're able to smirk at the back of his head as you remind him, "Well, Grandpa, we didn't know you were coming until the last minute, or else we would've made time for you."

He grunts, not daring to argue further about commitments to a church, and you all disappear to "get ready." AKA reconvene in your bedroom to explain how your heroic mother is allowing you to escape, grab your jackets, and flee.

Two minutes later, Eddie's van leaves your driveway, and you all heave a sigh of relief.

"Where to?" Eddie asks.

"Literally anywhere but here," you answer.

"Think anything's open?"

You run through a list of options in your head before your brother chimes in, "I'm not going out in public dressed like this."

Right. Grandparent Clothes.

"My place?"

Eddie's place.

It's chilly when you walk in. "Sorry," Eddie mumbles, turning the heat on. "Set the heat back before I left."

"It's fine," you smile, pulling him close. "Body heat is better anyway."

"Why's it so cold if I'm in Hell?" Gareth grumbles.

"Would you like to go back home and talk sports with gramps?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

Eddie grabs a stack of blankets, and you all pile onto the couch and cover up. The next several hours are spent watching re-runs of game shows and shouting at contestants on the tiny TV.

This is the kind of Thanksgiving break you'd planned on.

When it begins to approach the two o'clock dinner-time your mom had shouted at your backs as you fled, you turn off the TV and fold the blankets and Eddie turns the heat back down.

Your spirits begin to dampen again as you pull back into your driveway.

"Two hours, tops," you remind them. "They'll be outta here before we know it. Then we can get back to Lazy Thanksgiving."

"Just like the pilgrims intended," Eddie jokes. You grin.

You drag yourselves back into the house. Your grandfather looks like he's spent most of the morning napping, your grandmother looks smug, and your mother looks like she's about to snap.

Your very early Thanksgiving dinner went by without major incident. Forced conversation, food you didn't really like, and your grandma complaining that she could've made it better. Things to be expected.

The food was the same kind of food you'd always had on Thanksgiving, and exactly what you were hoping to avoid this year. The dressing with mysterious chunks in it. Greasy gravy. The controversial casserole that once caused a screaming match between your parents. The pie that two competing aunts once brought on the same year, which made them stop speaking to each other until Easter. The made-from-scratch rolls that your cousins used to mash into little balls and throw at you when the grown-ups weren't looking. The fancy dishes that only came out on special occasions; God help the fool who scraped a metal utensil across it. Police interrogations were less brutal than the year your aunt noticed a crack in her best gravy boat.

And then, the happiest part of the day: their departure. You gave them awkward hugs, wished them a safe trip, and watched them pull out of the driveway. All four people standing in the garage held their breaths until the car was out of sight, and let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Thank GOD!" your mother exclaims. You and Gareth scrub the greasy lipstick marks off your cheeks. Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.

"Gimme one," your mom insists. You haven't seen her smoke since the divorce. But seconds later, she's blowing a puff of smoke and looking more relaxed than she has in the last 24 hours.

You stand in the garage in silence, enjoying being back to a foursome, and thinking about all the leftovers you didn't want.

"Eddie?" your mother asks, slowly blowing out her smoke and gazing into the distance.

"Yeah?" he answers, stubbing out the cigarette he'd burned through at twice her speed.

"If I were to leave a crisp $20 bill on the kitchen table and go take a nap, is there any chance it could turn into something greener by the time I wake up?"

He looks at you. You look at him. All of your eyes eventually land on her.

She glances toward you and scoffs. "Children, please. I went to college in the '60s. Can you make it happen or not?"

"Uh…" he chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah?"

"Good."

"You uh… you want anything specific?"

"I would like to be calm and happy for the rest of the week."

"Okay."

Your eyes dart between them during the strangest conversation you've ever witnessed.

"Okay," she repeats, flicking her cigarette like an expert and walking into the house.

After a moment of silence, you have to ask: "What the fuck just happened?"

"Our mother just bought weed from your boyfriend."

The three of you laugh in disbelief. This is officially the weirdest Thanksgiving ever.

"I gotta cruise by Rick's real quick, wanna ride?"

"Sure… you think he'd want a plate?"

Eddie gives you a strange look.

"We've got plenty of leftovers. And we're making the good shit tomorrow, so there'll be even more. Wayne's getting a heap too."

"Kay."

You're piling food onto a styrofoam plate - well, two, for reinforcement - when the phone rings. Gareth answers, rolls his eyes, and mouths "Dad."

You cover Rick's plate with aluminum foil and hand it to Eddie. "Go on, tell Rick I said hi and Happy Thanksgiving. When you get back, all of the annoying relative shit should be over."

You send him away with a peck and pick up the phone in the hallway to join the conversation with yet another relative you didn't want to talk to. How thoughtful of him, to call the day before Thanksgiving so he could spend the real holiday with his new family.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, looking through Black Friday ads from the newspaper when Eddie returned. He quietly closes the door and plops into the seat across from you.

"Rick's in love with you now."

"Oh yeah?" you grin.

In a pretty decent imitation of his reefer-loving friend, Eddie drawls, "Thanksgiving food on a Wednesday? It's like Christmas came early, man… except it's Thanksgiving. Are those real mashed potatoes? And pie too?! You tell your girl and her mama that I really appreciate this."

You try to muffle your laughter as he plops the requested bag of green on the table, exactly where the $20 had been an hour before.

"Think I should roll those for her?"

You shrug. "I just found out she smokes like an hour ago, don't ask me about her drug preferences."

He contemplates for a second, then pulls the bag toward him and reaches into his pocket for rolling papers.

"You wanna hit the mall Friday morning?" you ask, flipping the brightly colored pages. "Ought to be some decent sales."

"Mhm," he hums, tongue poking out of his mouth, trying not to break his concentration.

"Are you trying to impress my mother with your joint-rolling abilities?"

"Maybe," he grins, finishing another.

Gareth wanders in the kitchen and sits at the table hesitantly, watching Eddie work. He's smoked with you a few times - better to keep an eye on him that let him go off with people you don't trust, you figure - but he's never rolled on his own before.

"You wanna try one?" Eddie asks. Gareth looks to you nervously. He's still not entirely convinced the DEA isn't going to bust down the door every time he touches the stuff. You crook half a smile, and he gets up to sit next to Eddie.

He's more patient here than he is at school. No jocks to unsettle. No reputation to maintain. No need to rule with an iron fist. He wasn't Eddie the Freak or Eddie the DM or Eddie the third-time senior here. His guard was down, and he was just Eddie. You love all the Eddies, but this one's your favorite.

You watch him teach proper rolling techniques out of the corner of your eye while you pretend to browse ads. They'd finished almost half the bag when you hear your mother coming. Eddie slides the rolled joints into the bag and puts it back where he was supposed to.

Gareth grabs the ad on top of the stack of papers and opens it to a random page, blushing crimson when he's greeted by Sears lingerie models. Flip, flip, flip. He becomes very interested in power tools, and you and Eddie try not to make eye contact, because you know you'll laugh.

Your mother enters the kitchen with a yawn and a stretch and spots her loot.

"Well, what do you know, looks like the Cannabis Fairy paid me a visit."

You snort. Eddie tries to hide a smile.

She looks down at the bag, and then at him.

"What, you think an old lady can't roll her own joints?"

"Just trying to save you some time." He smiles and bats his eyelashes. Moron.

"Riiiight," she says, pulling on her coat and picking up the bag. She steps into the garage… and leaves the door open. You look from it to Eddie, until she pokes her head back in. "Are you coming, or are you still pretending to be good kids?"

The three of you exchange glances, rooted in place until finally you shrug and get up. The boys follow. You grab jackets and step down into the garage.

She's sitting in a lawn chair, arms crossed like she's waiting to bust you for breaking curfew… with a lit joint in her hand.

"Et tu, Gareth?" she sighs when he steps down and closes the door.

"Uh… peer pressure?"

Everyone laughs.

You and Eddie drag the battered loveseat that the previous owners abandoned closer, and drop into it. Gareth unfolds another lawn chair and sits uneasily.

And that was how you found yourself passing around illegal substances in your garage, on the eve of Thanksgiving, with your boyfriend, little brother… and your mother.

You melt into Eddie once you begin to feel the effects. You lean your head on his shoulder and wish you'd thought to bring blankets out. His hand rests on your leg, radiating warmth into your skin, and you wish you were small enough so that you could fit your whole body in his hand. He could just carry you around and keep you in his pocket and let you attack people who irritated him. They'd never know what bit them. (You. You'd be what bit them.)

"Alright, what'd we miss?" Gareth asks.

"Let's see…" your mother ponders. "I'm a terrible mother who's raising disrespectful delinquents. My marriage failed because I emasculated my perfect bread-winning husband by insisting on working outside the home. He is blameless. The new church I selected must not be much of a church, to let in such shaggy youths. My son will become a devil-worshipping drug addict. My daughter will become impregnated before she graduates because I let that boy sleep in my house. Good news though: If you get knocked up, they probably won't come down for graduation, because they'll die of shame. Oh, and my turkey was dry."

You take a moment to process all this. Where do you even start?

"Dude…" Gareth begins. "Grandma's a cunt."

After a moment of stunned silence, your mother starts to laugh. And then you all join in. Minutes later, tears are streaming down your face, and you still can't stop laughing. You're clinging to Eddie, shaking together, finally feeling warm and happy and comfortable after a day of hell.

"Oh, man," your mom finally gets out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What do you say we go finish up their leftovers so we can start over tomorrow?"

"That is the best idea in the history of Earth," Gareth says with genuine awe. Which sets you and Eddie off again. Your mom and Gareth go inside, and you and Eddie eventually pull yourselves together and off the loveseat.

Your mom has decided not to bother with individual plates; she's thrown all the grandparent-specific leftovers onto a glass pan and stuck it in the oven to reheat. You gather around the table and wait. When it comes out, you each grab a fork and go to town.

That's one way to get rid of leftovers you don't want.

"I'm going to bed," your mother finally says, getting up with a stretch. "I cooked all day today. Tomorrow's your problem. Wake me up when dinner's ready."

"Kay," you mumble through the last mouthful of the casserole you weren't generally fond of, but tonight found pretty good.

You left the dish in the sink and retreated to the living room to finish off the night with a movie.

"Ugh," Eddie groans, leaning back into the couch and sticking out his belly. "Why did you make me eat so much?"

"Yeah, that was definitely my doing," you laugh, pulling a blanket across your lap. Gareth puts in a tape and settles into his favorite spot on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon.

"I can't even breathe," Eddie whines.

You roll your eyes, reach over, and pop the button on his jeans. He falls silent as the previews begin, but you can feel him staring at you.

"What?" you finally ask, turning your head when you can't stand it anymore.

"Will you marry me?"

"What?"

"That was like the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me."

A laugh escapes you. "You are such a dweeb."

"But you love me," he grins.

"…yeah, I guess," you sigh, pretending to be defeated.

His jaw drops in mock offense.

"You two are gonna make me puke up all that old person food if you keep on," Gareth chimes in from across the room.

You laugh and snuggle into Eddie's side, pulling the blanket over both of you.

"Love you," you whisper.

"Lots?"

"Lots and lots," you confirm, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder.

You woke when the screen turned to static, shook the boys awake, and dragged your corpses to bed.

"Best Thanksgiving ever," Eddie mumbled when you crawled under the covers beside him.

"Babe?"

"Hm?"

"That was Grandparent Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Lazy Thanksgiving. It ain't over 'til the last piece of turkey's gone."

He chuckles. "So what exactly are we doing tomorrow?"

"We'll make the food, since Mom did everything yesterday. Turkey's done, so we just need sides. It'll be easy, pretty much everything has instructions on the box. There's rolls and a pie hiding in a cooler in the garage. So we'll make food, eat food, lay in front of the TV and watch old Thanksgiving specials I recorded and whine about how much food we ate… until it's time to eat more food."

"I think Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday."

"Mine too, now." You smile a sleepy smile, not wanting to say goodnight and go to sleep just yet. "Still wanna hit Starcourt Friday morning? Lots of stuff on sale. If we strike out, we can always go back to your place… if you don't mind being alone with me for a little while… I'm sure we could find something to do…"

"You know, Black Friday's sounding pretty good too."

You chuckle and lean in for a kiss.

"I'm so happy you're here with me," you breathe.

"I'm happy you wanted me here," he says, giving you another kiss.

"Sorry about the grandparents," you wince.

"It's alright… we'll have it at our place next year." Your heart soars at the thought of getting to be like this with him every night. "And we won't tell them where we live."

You laugh and snuggle closer. "Sounds good to me, Eds."

He sighs happily and kisses your forehead, and you both drift to sleep in a comfortable silence.

You woke up so warm and comfortable, you almost didn't want to get out of bed, even though it's nearly eleven.

But today is Lazy Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you've always dreamed of. No unwanted guests. No hard labor. No stuffy clothes. You turn over to look at the clock, and Eddie pounces.

"Where you think you're goin'?" he mumbles into the back of your neck, holding you in place with an arm around your waist.

"Food," you yawn.

"This is all I wanna eat." He nibbles at the back of your neck, and you shrink away from him with a laugh.

"Not on the menu today, I'm afraid."

"Hmph." He lets you go and flops onto his back. You turn to look at him. Arms crossed. Pouty. Hair a mess. Perfect.

You slide closer and sling a leg over his. You put your arm across his middle and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He doesn't budge.

"Tomorrow, however…" you whisper with a soft kiss to his neck. He finally uncrosses his arms to run a hand up your thigh.

"Tell me more."

"Hmmm…" you hum, nuzzling into him. You can feel him melt. "Nope." You nip at his neck and haul yourself out of bed. He growls, but you're already out of the room before he makes a move.

Your mom is drinking coffee and watching the parade in the living room. "You sure you've got this?" she asks.

"We got this," you confirm. "We'll wake you up when it's ready."

"Like anyone could sleep through this thrilling display!" she says with mock-offense, gesturing to a high school marching band. You smile and return to the kitchen, hoping she enjoys her first uninterrupted parade in years.

Both boys wander into the kitchen a few minutes later, while you're pulling things from the cabinets and moving them to the table.

"Eddie, you're on stuffing. Gareth, you've got mashed potatoes."

"And what about you, Your Highness?" Gareth grumbles.

"Everything else, Prince Ass."

Eddie snorts and picks up one of the four boxes of Stove Top to read the instructions. He looks at you apprehensively.

"I have faith in you." He smirks and reads the box again.

"How many potatoes?" Gareth asks, skimming the instructions. Potato flakes from a flimsy cardboard box. If that didn't finish your grandmother off, the packets of gravy mix would.

"A buttload."

"That's not on the box."

"Then whatever the biggest batch is."

"Kay," he shrugs, reaching for the measuring cup you've left in the middle of the table.

The three of you work together in a shockingly harmonious manner. Pots on the stove, dishes in the oven, bowls in and out of the microwave, and nearly an hour later, the table is as set as it's gonna be. No serving dishes saved for special occasions; everything remains on the stove and counter, in whatever vessel it was cooked in. You were all fully capable of getting up and fixing your own plates.

And that's exactly what you did.

"Are we gonna hold hands and say what we're thankful for?" your mom teases.

"I'm thankful that Grandma and Grandpa are gone," Gareth says quickly, causing a laugh to spread around the table.

Screw it. "I'm thankful that all my favorite people are here."

"Awww," Gareth mocks, causing you and Eddie to both kick him under the table. You smirk at each other when he hisses.

"I'm thankful for the invite," Eddie smiles, making your heart soften.

"And I'm thankful for brown-and-serve rolls," your mom says, ripping hers open and slathering it with butter. "Okay, you little dorks, raise a roll."

You each pick up your roll and raise it, as instructed.

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!"

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!" you all echo, then take a bite out of your perfectly adequate rolls that took 8 minutes to prepare. (A great improvement from the traditional 4-hour ordeal.)

Lazy Thanksgiving really was the holiday you'd always dreamed of.

[trulybetty]

dec' x 28 - snowman

Prompt: snowman Pairing: sequins!joel x reader Word Count: 1,253 Warnings: domesticity, baby girl miller, really loose fit of the prompt, festive fluff. Summary: Joel Miller in an ugly Christmas sweater. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

“You promised me,” Joel muttered, eyeing the sweater.

“I did,” you acknowledged with a knowing smile, remembering the promise you made to avoid matching outfits. 

“Then please explain why darlin’ I’m looking at some ridiculous sweatshirt?”

“But you didn’t make Sarah promise you.”

He groaned, a sound that was half-resigned, half-amused. “Do I have to wear it?”

You leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, feeling them curve into a reluctant smile. “You know the answer to that,” you replied, pulling on your own matching sweater. You caught the brief look of disappointment on his face as he lost sight of you in your bra.

The sweater was admittedly garish, bright red with stitched snowmen and snowflakes, but as you all got dressed, even Joel couldn’t resist a smile. The baby looked adorable, snug in a miniature version of the sweater, alternating her tiny fists into her gummy mouth.

Much like the festivities in October, Sarah was championing another set of traditions for your small family and its new arrival. She’d been begging for a family Santa photo for weeks. You’d mentioned casually bringing the baby to the mall for a photo alongside Sarah. The words hadn’t finished leaving your lips before Sarah had exclaimed the words ‘matching christmas sweaters’.

Joel had put his foot down over dinner that night, remnants from Thanksgiving you’d hosted for your family in town for the holidays two days before. Though it hadn’t taken much time for Sarah to sweet talk him into her festive plan.  

“On one condition,” he said around a mouthful of leftover turkey, “you don’t go posting these everywhere,” he conceded with a wave of his fork.

Sarah had been practically buzzing with excitement and with no delay had started bombarding the two of you with ideas from her Pinterest board she’d curated, it’d actually been somewhat impressive. She’d even allowed Joel the choice of sweater from her shortlist, unbeknownst to him that she had fixed it for him to pick her favourite. It had needn’t of mattered, for Sara Joel would hang the moon if it made her smile.

Later that night, Sarah posted the picture to Instagram despite her promise to her father. She showed you the post with a caption that read, ‘First family Christmas with my baby sister! #MatchingSweaters #FamilyGoals.’

“Didn’t you promise not to post it?” you’d asked, despite already having pulled up a website to create a Christmas card from the very same image.

Sarah gave you a devilish grin that was unmistakably all Joel, “He’s got no clue how to use the internet,” you raised an eyebrow as she doubled over, laughing at her own joke, “He’ll never see this!”

It was later that evening, the baby sleeping soundly and Sara in her room FaceTiming with her mother, when you and Joel were sat in front of the TV watching some action movie you’d conceded on to avoid half of an hour of back and forth. 

You were absently scrolling through your phone when Joel’s phone on the coffee table started to buzz with notifications. Joel groaned as he leaned forward to pick up his phone when it didn’t fall silent after the first notification.

“I should just switch the damn thing off,” he grumbled as he reluctantly slipped on his glasses when he realized he couldn’t clearly read the text.

‘Joel! Saw the Christmas pic, nice sweater!’ the message read, followed by a string of laughing emojis.

Joel looked at the phone with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “How did they even find that picture?” he muttered, half to himself.

You leaned over, peering at the text. “Aww, they’re excited for you.”

A new text came in, this time from Tommy that was just simply a string of emojis. 

Joel shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face despite his attempt to look annoyed. “I don’t even know how I got into this chat. Or how to even get out of it.”

The teasing from the group chat continued a playful ribbing that was clearly grounded in affection. They were genuinely happy for him, for the life he had built with you, Sarah and the new baby. As the messages ran back and forth, poking fun at his sweater and the ‘adorable’ family picture, Joel couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and contentment.

You watched as his eyes softened while scrolling through the messages. “You secretly love it, don’t you?” you teased.

He looked up, the mock gruffness in his expression failing to mask the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe just a little,” he admitted. “But don’t tell Sarah,” a smirk on his lips. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

[idyllcy]

from one admirer to another : runny?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as model number two // leon as Leon

My dearest, model number two,

I've always been rookiecookie, but I guess that flew past your notice back then during the cupsleeve event. There's nothing I find strange about trusting you. If anything, I find it to be as natural as breathing.

What do I fall back to on a hard day? I like cookie dough ice cream with a marathon of my favorite show, huddled into the corner of my couch with Sunny on my lap. When I'm out ordering... typically it's a gelato of some kind. You know, family roots and all. I still have a family recipe — if you're down to come over again to make it.

I like hundred-petaled roses. My dad used to bring them home for my mom, and she used to keep everyone he had. She'd dehydrate them, and then she had a pretty clear bottle with every single petal she had ever received from dad. I found it kind of disgusting back when I was a kid, but thinking back upon it, it was kind of cute. Does that count as a fond memory as well?

You don't need to glance through that veil of mine. I'll let you in willingly, and then when you are comfortable, I'll lay myself bare by you, telling you findings from the heart. Who knows, maybe that can be at your place? (and if not, please let me visit anyway. I'd like to meet sesame bun.)

If we do end up dating, then I'll definitely fly you in for my shows and shoots. You can take exclusive backstage photos of me as well. Who doesn't like behind-the-scenes content of their favorite model? I'm sure they'd like content of me looking at you all stupid in love too. The people are desperate.

Oh, right. Before I forget. I'm hosting a Thanksgiving dinner at my place on in the club room. Come over? We start at 5. I can take you home after.

Please? Leon

Leon drops his letter off a week before he even thinks about buying groceries for the dinner. To be fair, it isn't until Claire texts him a grocery list that he remembers that he should probably get ready to cook. He'd suggest Chris' place, but he has a grill, and it had been a while since they got to get dinner together. The club room has a pretty good barbecue... and it wasn't like the turkey was going to be fried like all the other times at Chris' place... Leon wonders how the hell the turkey's going to work out. Yes, Chris is making it. No, he doesn't know what it's going to be if not fried like all the other years.

Instead, he follows Claire's orders on what to buy and not to buy, pushing the cart through the aisles as he checks the chat history for any other item to buy, before your phone call rings in.

"Hey."

"Got your letter. Wesker's hosting us for Thanksgiving, unfortunately." You mumble. "I sent my letter earlier today, so it should arrive right before Thanksgiving."

"You can't make it?"

"How 'bout a date instead?" You check your phone. "I can come over to help cook. Wesker refuses to let any of us cook, so I'm not doing anything in the afternoon. What do you make for Thanksgiving?"

"I was thinking cookies or pie."

"Oh... cookies..." You mumble. "I'll bring ingredients then! I'll also bring a pie because, well, there's a really good pie place by mine and I thought I'd share the joy."

"Will you bring the leftovers home?"

"Hm? Am I not allowed to visit you over the weeks?"

Leon malfunctions, blinking. "What?"

"Leaving leftovers at your place? So I have an excuse to visit later? Forget I said—"

"NO! No, oh, please come over. I'd love to have you at my place over the weekend." Leon saves himself. God.

He's.

Yeah.

He's down awful.

prev letter : masterlist : next letter

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

The Demigod On Earth - Steve Rogers x Reader (Turkey Time!)

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! I am very very thankful for all of you!

Summary: It's the time for giving thanks and goodwill and after meeting a teen in central park you decide to do some good.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff! Minor Angst!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Turkey Time!

You watched with a soft smile as you watched JJ kick his soccer ball around Central Park. Steve was working today so you and JJ were having a day out together. You had already visited Central Park Zoo and now were just having a kick about before heading home.

“Are you sure we don’t need a larger Turkey?” Steve asks over the phone, he was planning on getting the last of the Thanksgiving shopping on his way home.

“Yes I’m sure, it’s just the three of us this year,” you tell him as you watch JJ.

“Thor’s not coming?”

“No he’s still on his health kick so he doesn’t want to give into temptation, so it’s just you, me and JJ as Bucky is going to Sam’s” you confirm “And JJ’s not gonna eat much and I don’t want to be eating leftovers for the next month”

Steve let out another long sigh “But… we do eat more than the average person” he points out.

“Alright Joey Tribbiani, if you think you can eat a larger turkey, you get a larger turkey but I won’t be helping” you state.

Steve lets out a small chuckle “alright fine, smaller turkey it is, but we’re still having pie right?”

“Yes I’m still gonna make a pie” you chuckle, looking back over at JJ you watch him just as he kicks the soccer ball so far that he hits a teen walking through the park “Sorry Steve I gotta go, text me if you have any more questions,” you say hanging up the phone.

You quickly jog over to JJ and the teen were now talking “hey i’m sorry, he’s got a pretty strong kick” you apologise to the teen, running your hand through JJ’s hair.

“No, no it's okay” the teen says with an awkward smile “You could go pro with a kick like that” he continues smiling down at JJ.

“Wanna play with me?” JJ asks hopefully.

“Oh, I’m sure that um-” you say realising you didn’t know the teen’s name.

“Peter, Peter Parker” the teen coughs shuffling from foot to foot.

“I’m sure Peter has to get on a be somewhere JJ” you continue.

“Oh,” JJ says with a disappointed pout.

“Hey no it’s okay, I’m sure I can spare a few minutes” Peter smiles.

“Are you sure, it’s okay if you have to be somewhere” you reassure him.

“I don’t” Peter says with a smile that almost looks sad.

You study him for a moment before nodding “Okay yeah sure, sounds good, I’m just gonna call my husband back… he’s a bit lost with the Thanksgiving shopping” you say making Peter chuckle.

“Sure, don’t worry I got him Mrs Rogers,” Peter says making you startle slightly since you hadn’t introduced yourself “Sorry, I- I uh just recognised you from the news, i’m not some criminal or anything just… just a kid from queens” peter quickly rambles.

The sudden spike of nervous energy leaves your body, you weren’t sure why but you felt like you could completely trust this kid like you’d known him for years “Okay, thank you” you smile softly.

For the next fifteen minutes you watched as JJ and Peter kicked the ball around together, it was like they were old friends or even family the way they seemed so familiar with each other. You wondered what it was that caused adults to lose that innocence.

Far sooner than JJ wanted it was time to head home “Thanks for sticking around and playing with JJ” you smile thanking Peter.

“It’s nothing enjoy your holidays” Peter smiles stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“You too, got much planned?” you ask him.

“Oh uh no, it’s just me, my aunt died a couple of weeks back” Peter explains, his face turning sullen as he quickly sniffles.

“Oh I’m so sorry” you sigh sympathetically.

“I- I’m okay” Peter says but you could tell he was lying “I’ll uh- let you get on, thank you… for today” he says taking a couple steps back before turning.

You watch as he goes, feeling a sudden feeling in your gut that it was just wrong to let his kid just go “Hey Peter” you call out making him stop “It’s just gonna be us this Thanksgiving and I already know Steve it gonna buy more food than we need so um if you’re looking for somewhere to go… you can have thanksgiving with us?” you suggest.

Peter looks back at you completely shocked “But… but you don’t know me” he points out.

“I know… but I have a pretty accurate gut feeling and I have a really good feeling about you and I really don’t like the idea of you being alone on Thanksgiving” you explain, you could see Peter hesitating so you quickly scribble out your address on a piece of scrap paper “just consider it okay,” you say passing him the note.

“I uh will thank you,” Peter says with a hesitant smile.

“Cool, well maybe I’ll see you later this week” you smile “C’mon JJ let's head home”

“Bye Peter!” JJ calls out waving his hand wildly.

“Bye JJ” Peter smiles waving back.

Even though it was just the three of you Thanksgiving was still pretty hectic. Thankfully JJ was pretty distracted playing with Scout and since Steve’s cooking abilities had improved it wasn’t just you in the kitchen.

Soon enough it got to a point where everything was sorted and you were just waiting for everything to finish cooking, allowing you and Steve to collapse onto the couch. You let out a heavy sigh as you checked the clock trying not to feel disappointed that Peter hadn’t shown up.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, reaching out to take your hand “There’s still time” he reassures you.

You look over to give him a gentle smile, when you told Steve that you’d invited a someone who was basically a stranger to Thanksgiving he wasn’t impressed. The two of you argued about it for most of the evening, you understood Steve’s concerns but you just couldn’t explain the reason why you couldn’t just let this kid be alone.

“I know… I just hate the idea of him being alone so soon after losing his only family” you sigh “Nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving”

Steve hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side so he could kiss the side of your head “More turkey for me” he mutters.

“Steve” you snort shaking your head at him, slapping his chest.

“I know, I know I’m sorry” He chuckles kissing your temple once more.

You let out another long sigh “We should probably finish setting the table” you say standing back up from the couch.

“Sure, we’ll set it for four… just in case” Steve says as he follows earning a warm smile from you.

“Thank you” you whisper leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

You were about to step away when you heard someone knock on the door, a wide smile breaks out on your face before rushing to the door. Steve chuckled as he watched you go, remaining by the door to the living room while you continued to the door.

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself before you open the door, smiling when you saw it was Peter holding a small bouquet of fall-coloured flowers “Hey, I knew I should bring something but I’m not great at cooking or old enough to buy alcohol so” Peter rambles as he holds up the flowers.

“They’re great thank you Peter” you smile as you let him inside “I’m glad you decided to come”

“I- I’m sorry I’m late… I just… I-” Peter stutters.

“Peter it’s okay, I understand, you’re just in time” you smile softly as you lead him through the house “This is Steve” you say introducing Peter to Steve.

“It’s an honour to meet you sir” Peter says holding out his hand towards Steve.

“Call me Steve” Steve smiles as he shakes Peter’s hand.

“Steve” Peter repeats with a nervous chuckle as the three of you continue walking into the kitchen “Is there anything you could do to help?”

“Uh, why don’t you help Steve set the table? Those flowers would be lovely in the centre” you suggest with a smile.

“Yeah sure no problem” Peter smiles before following Steve into the dining room.

Steve gives you a look to say he knew exactly what you were doing and you just wanted them a chance to get to know each other but that wasn’t going to stop you.

Your plan seemed to work though as a few minutes later the two of them returned to the kitchen laughing and talking like they were old friends “Hey Pete do you want a drink?” Steve asks walking to the fridge and pulling out two beer bottles.

“Oh um I’m only 17,” Peter says shaking his head.

“That’s alright, I won’t tell” Steve winks as he pops the tops and passes Peter a bottle “You’ll be off to college soon and we all know what college kids get up to”

“Oh I won’t be going to college,” Peter says as he takes a small sip of his beer.

“Really? You seem like a smart kid” you say your brows furrowing in concern.

“Thanks,” Peter says with a small smile “but with everything that happened, I ended up having to drop out of high school but I’m working to get my GED” he explains “Plus there are a few things keeping me in New York”

“Okay… well if you ever consider university, I’m a professor at NYU, I might be able to help” you offer.

“Thank you… I’ll let you know” Peter smiles.

“Peter!” JJ shouts as he enters the kitchen, scout in tow “You came!” he smiles running over to greet Peter with a hug.

“Yeah sorry I’m late pal, why don’t you show me how much better your soccer is” Peter suggests bending down to be at eye level with JJ.

“Yes! C’mon!” JJ beams grabbing Peter's hand and dragging him outside.

You smile as you watch them go before turning back to Steve “alright you can say it” he sighs knowingly.

“I told you so” You grin victoriously as you walk over and wrap your arms around his waist.

“He’s a good kid” Steve agrees as he presses a kiss to the top of your head “You did good inviting him”

“It’s what Thanksgiving is about right?” you smile.

“Exactly” Steve smiles cupping your cheek and kissing you deeply “Maybe he can babysit so we can have some time alone” he smirks.

“Give Bucky a break” you smirk “Sounds like a good plan”

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[gorgynei]

not a huge fan of turkey by itself for thanksgiving but dude. using the leftover meat and bones to make a phenominal gumbo and broth. i could eat that every singl e day